


Good Intentions

by Imafilthycasual



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Damian Wayne, Alpha Jason Todd, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Beta Dick Grayson, Beta Tim Drake, Body mutilation, Buried Alive, Canon-Typical Violence, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dark, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Feels, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Prostitution, Friends to Lovers, Graphic description of dead bodies, Human Experimentation, Hurt Dick Grayson, I guess that deserves its own tag, I play fast and loose with my canon, I pull from all Batman media and use what I like and toss what I don't, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Kidnapping, Loosely Canon Compliant, M/M, Mass Graves, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not for the faint of heart, Serial Killers, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Violence, anxiety/panic attacks, graphic nightmares, lots of death, so many feels, so there's that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imafilthycasual/pseuds/Imafilthycasual
Summary: The road to Hell is paved with Good Intentions.In a world where Betas are born sterile, Alphas cannot bare children and Omegas have been subjected to progressively undermining laws, things managed to get even worse in Gotham.Dick and the Bats are collectively working on a puzzling case where mass graves and mutilated bodies are popping up all around Gotham. No suspects. No explanations. No clues. Are they related? Probably. Can they prove it? Possibly. Will one of them get in too deep and all of them be forced to bare the consequences? Definitely.Bring your flashlights friends, this shit will get dark.





	1. Pursuing Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING WARNING SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> This fic is dark. Like, black hole dark. It’s basically a gritty noir-styled detective story in an ABO universe that is all kinds of messed up. Featuring: Mutilated corpses, human experimentation, and mass graves in chapter 1 alone. Please check the tags with EACH chapter and if you’re not comfortable with reading about any of those topics, avoid this fic at all costs. I’m not shy with my descriptions or narratives and I aim to be as realistic as possible with sights and smells and so on. I CANNOT stress enough that this piece is NOT for the squeamish or faint of heart. Read the tags actively and consider yourself forewarned. (More in the end notes)
> 
> @dabiishi (beta reader) note: Imafilthycasual is not kidding about the level of detail. If you choose to read, don’t then complain about said topics! They told you so! :p

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodies Bodies everywhere and not a clue in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the tags carefully please! Huge thank you to my wonderful beta reader Dabiishi (here on ao3).

The first thing to greet Dick as he walked up to the crime scene was GCP’s newest rookie cop bent over a garbage bin completely losing his breakfast. Dick couldn’t help but wince in sympathy. These sort of brutal crime scenes never got any easier to look at but at least one could learn to control their gag reflex at the sight of them. 

Gently he patted the young alpha on the back before proceeding towards the alley which had been blocked off at the mouth by an empty squad car. The rookie lifted his head and out of the corner of his eye, Dick could see him lifting a finger to make a comment. However, whatever he was going to say became lost in the following wave of nausea as the poor kid went back to emptying his stomach into the garbage pail.

The early morning light hadn’t yet reached the alley, choosing to hide behind a sea of greying buildings while a violent clash of red and blue shifting colors bounced off the walls instead. It was eerily quiet in that tiny corner of the world. What little noise the abandoned warehouses made all around them was muffled by the towering brick walls to his left and right. Nothing good ever happened in hidden places like this.

Dick came to a stop at the broken porcelain remains of a mutilated body, cloudy eyes staring blankly at the sky above with parted blue lips frozen in a silent cry. She was young. It was the first thing that struck Grayson as he knelt down to get a closer look at her, rubbing peppermint under his nose to help mask that distinct and familiar scent of decomposition. It smelt like the fish market in chinatown, a fact that kept Dick from eating fish the moment he drew that parallel onward*.

Dick pulled on his blue latex gloves and glanced over his shoulder at the rookie who couldn’t even look down the alley yet. By his estimate, he had another ten minutes before the suits showed up and regulated him back to perimeter guard, which meant that any information he could gather was going to have to be done quickly.

Pulling out a paper bag and pair of tweezers, Dick got to work collecting tiny samples of biological importance before subtly snapping a few photos for reference. 

She was the fourth body this month to be found in similar circumstances: naked, covered in bruises, needle marks and fresh surgical wounds that showed signs of initial healing premortem. It was impossible to tell at the current moment but Dick would bet a year’s salary that she was also a Beta. They had all been Betas. At least, according to their DNA they had all been Betas. Their blood work, on the other hand, had come back muddied with an over saturation of Omega hormones and chemicals he had never seen before. To what end, Dick couldn’t confidently say.

Betas were as sterile as they were rare, with females unable to produce viable eggs and men with a nearly non-existent sperm count. Because of this, Betas only made up a small percentage of the population and were often considered a fluke or a birth defect by those less sensitive to the situation. However, as insensitive as the remarks were, they weren’t entirely incorrect. Having finally mapped the entire human genome meant that more could be understood about humankind and (more specifically) secondary genders; one of those understandings being that the Beta gene was a genetic malformation of the Omega gene. Not exactly a confidence booster to those born as Betas like Dick but it is what it is. 

He gently closed the girl’s eyes before brushing back her long dark hair to catch sight of a brand right in the place a scent gland should have been. Omega. The symbol which had been burned into her skin was the symbol for Omega and it made Dick’s stomach sink.

In addition to the individual mutilated Betas turning up in alleys and dumpsites all over Gotham, mass graves of Omegas were being uncovered on the outskirts of the city in frightening proportions. Undoubtedly these were the victims of the black market Omega mills; however, were they related to the Beta victims or were these two horrifying crimes happening simultaneously by some terrible coincidence? Dick doubted it was the latter. 

Tucking the paper bag containing the samples and tweezers into a hidden pocket within the lining of his jacket, Dick rose to his full height and not a moment too soon.

“Officer Grayson.” The echoing of footsteps indicated that the investigation team had arrived. “Thank you for guarding the crime scene. We’ll take it from here.”

Dick turned and offered the homicide detective a somber nod before making his way out of the alley and towards his own squad car. He passed the rookie who was still looking green around the edges laid a hand gently on his back, causing the kid to jump at the contact.

“I’ll set up first perimeter if you want to set up second and keep an eye out as crowd control.” 

The young officer just looked at Dick for a long moment, eyes haunted with things he could never unsee, before jerking his head into a nod and moving further away from the crime scene. Poor kid wasn’t going to last 6 months at this rate, a recurring theme which had triggered Dick to transfer from BPD to GCPD. That and the sudden escalation of violent crimes which were far above the normal quota for Gotham. And that was saying a lot.

Far as he could tell, an established crime syndicate had decided to transfer its operations from somewhere overseas to Gotham. A move he would normally peg as criminally stupid (pun intended) but given the current situation, he would be willing to amend that previous assumption. Whoever they were, they were smart and well organized to the point that Batman was no closer to busting them than GCPD was. Which STILL blew Dick’s mind when he took a second to reflect on that. 

Every day more and more registered Omegas and Betas were vanishing into thin air, leaving no clues or indications as to what happened to them or where they have gone. Part of the problem was the nature of the standard victim being either a working girl or a rent boy, an occupation which made tracking down their whereabouts nearly impossible and (frustratingly) low on the GCPD priority list. Just another reason in the thousands that Bruce had collected for his case on convincing Dick to come home. 

However, it wasn’t until the first mass grave was discovered that Dick put in his transfer papers. Bludhaven was his personal project but Gotham was home and it was quickly coming to light that the situation at home was turning into an “all hands on deck” shitshow. 

That was months ago and Dick was no closer to cracking the case than he had been when he first moved there. Something which was practically unheard of in the Bat clan, especially with more than one Bat working on the same project. His mood soured at the mental reminder of how long this case had been dragging on and how high the body count was climbing. It just made no sense. How could an organization abduct and hold THAT many individuals without ANYONE leaking ANY information about it?

The mounting fear was as plain to see as the graffiti on the walls and Dick was not immune to it.

When evening finally fell like a hush upon the city, Nightwing found himself frustrated and antsy as he moved from one roof to the next. Usually the cool night air rushing past him coupled with the adrenaline spike from flinging himself off high buildings was enough to lift even the worst of his moods. That was not the case tonight. Tonight felt like he was just going through the motions while his tired brain worked overtime and his thoughts tumbled uselessly over one another to keep up. 

He stopped at a familiar spot, giving his muscles a rest while he pensively considered the busy work of the city below him. It was quieter than usual and Dick was willing to bet it had something to do with the rising number of missing persons in conjunction with the rising number of found bodies. In the back of his mind he could hear Bruce hounding him to work harder... Think smarter… and beyond that mantre, Alfred reassuring him that these deaths were not his fault. He wasn’t the one that abducted them. He wasn’t the one that sealed their fate. He wasn’t. 

He wasn’t.

And yet… the guilt of their deaths were eating at him.

Dick scowled. Whoever these guys were, they were like hunting ghosts.

Speaking of which…

“You know, if you keep making that face, it’s gonna stay that way.”

Nightwing let out a short huff of amusement, not bothering to look up at the owner of the voice but allowing the familiar presence wash over him. “I thought you weren’t due to arrive in Gotham for another week.”

“As far as B is concerned, that’s still the case. Capisce, Goldie?” 

He smiled then, in spite of his mood, because it was an unavoidable consequence of sorely needed reunions. “Agent A will be so disappointed. He’s been preparing for your arrival all week, Little Wing.”

The man made a sound caught between acknowledgement and scoffing before dropping down beside him. In moments like these, Dick wished he had been born an alpha or an omega, just so he could understand people like the others did. Being able to read someone’s emotions and well being by scent alone was a gift he had always been deeply jealous of. Like right now. What kind of scent would Jay give off casually sitting on the ledge of a building with his legs thrown over the edge next to him? Dick would put money on it being something rich and spicy with an edge to it that read like a warning. Anything short of that wouldn’t do the man justice.

“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” Red Hood didn’t look at him as he spoke.

Another reason Dick wished he could scent: It was nearly impossible to read Jason with that damn helmet on. “I beg to differ.”

A beat of silence fell between them, comfortable for the most part as the sounds of the city rustled all around them. It reminded him of better times filled with post-patrol tacos and the hint of laughter tucked away in a tiny smirk- one of the few tells Jay had when he thought he was being clever. “Heard you found another vic this morning.”

Memory lane took an abrupt turn and sent him careening off the cliff of reality.

“Yeah.” A deep sigh escaped him. “Same M.O. and all. I managed to get some hair and blood samples before the cavalry arrived but it wasn’t a lot. B is back at home base running the tests now.” 

From the corner of his eye, Dick could see the way Jason fidgeted in his discomfort. He was invested in these cases, probably more than anyone else involved because Jason KNEW these victims. If not personally, he knew the community their deaths affected because these were members of HIS underground network. They were his eyes and ears on the street, informants and good acquaintances who were more than happy to lend a hand to the Red Hood when he asked. And why wouldn’t they? Red Hood was a folk hero on the streets of crime ally, well known for taking care of his own.

“Hard to believe the Big Bad Bat hasn’t figured it all out yet.” 

Dick rubbed at his forehead, unwilling to take the bait and fight with Jason just because he needed something to take his frustrations out on. He didn’t have the energy for that, nor the desire. Getting Jay back into the family fold had been one hell of a struggle which had involved a LOT of screaming and arguments on all sides. Dick couldn’t remember a time he had been more mad at Bruce for being such a stubborn dumb alpha. Other than the first time he left him… when Jason arrived. God… poor Jason. His induction to their family was always surrounded by so much fighting, it was a wonder he agreed to come back at all.

“Hard to believe NO ONE has.” Dick finally turned to stare pointedly at Jay who didn’t have a response to that.

He couldn’t see his face, could’t read his eyes, but he could tell there was a lot of tension in his shoulders and that meant Jay was more stressed than he was letting on. Slowly, Dick reached over to place a warm hand on the other’s shoulder, hoping to God it was the right move. He could never tell with Jay because it was practically a coin flip whether or not the guy would open up to him or completely shut him down. Why did always have to be so complicated with Little Wing? Dick yearned to pull him in close and-

The shrill wail of a store alarm in the distance caught Nightwing’s attention and he let his hand slide away from Red Hood’s shoulder, getting to his feet before he even had a chance to think about it. 

“Time to get to work.” He flashed the other man a wide grin before lining up to backflip off the edge of the building in a totally flashy and completely unnecessary move that was classically Dick Grayson. He really just couldn’t help himself. Show business was in his blood and that never went away.

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *true fact.
> 
> Hey all! Welcome to the new story which I have been looking forward to writing for quite some time. A little background about myself: Many Many moons ago I went to school for abnormal psychology and ended up taking classes in Homicide Investigation and specializing in the psychological development of serial killers. H.I. in particular was a practical course for those aiming to be homicide detectives taught by a retired Homicide Detective who would take us on field trips to the coroner's office etc. The coroners office trip was intended for us to view active cases (dead bodies) being worked on (autopsies) at that particular location. 
> 
> It was quite a unique experience.
> 
> With that being said, it stands to reason that a lot of my descriptions of sights and smells are based on personal experiences from my time studying homicide. Hopefully that doesn’t freak anyone out too bad but I trust if you’ve made it this far, you’ve read the tags and warnings and are set to move on to the following chapters. Please let me know what you think in a review so I can judge how far I can or cannot go with this story. Thank you again for reading!!!


	2. The Mysteries of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim fills Dick in on some of the more gritty details in the Beta case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A biiiiig thank you to my wonderful Beta reader Kookybun. These stories would not be possible without her. 
> 
> Standard warning: This is a dark dark daaaaaaark fic. Please be mindful of the tags and take them very seriously :D!

The cacophony of beeps, whirls and clicks echoed throughout the cavern as the Bat Computer analyzed the various samples Dick had brought back earlier that day. When Tim’s drumming fingers over the keyboard added percussion to the overarching electronic symphony, Dick was certain his pounding headache was going to turn into a migraine. It had been a long night, made only longer by the repeated blows to the head he had suffered while stopping an active bank robbery by... whatever masked villain of the week the perp had been calling himself. He had honestly stopped paying attention pretty early on in the fight, the guy was an amature criminal (at best) but he sure packed one hell of a wallop which Dick would be feeling for days to come.

“You sure these samples weren’t contaminated?”

Grayson was actually surprised to feel his temper suddenly rise to the surface all at once, boiling at the insinuation that he didn’t know how to take a few samples without messing it up. However, as quick as it came, it was gone. Rationally, Dick knew that Tim was just doing his job and he needed to NOT snap at his little brother for being thorough in his work.

“Yes, Rin TimTim, I’m sure.”

Red Robin, in all his leather bound glory sans the cowl, glanced back at the nickname and wrinkled his nose in distaste. He REALLY didn’t care for all the pet names Dick and Jason insisted on using but, wisely, decided not to say anything on the matter. Mostly because he knew damn well that THAT was a fight he was never going to win.

Dick smugly crossed his arms and smiled. Yeah, he knew that he was being petulant but it was better than chewing the kid out for crimes he hadn’t committed.

“Well then, we have something weird happening here.” Tim sighed deeply in way that Dick could empathize with on a spiritual level.

“Define weird?”

The kid shrugged, turning back to face the moving text on his screen. “Bigfoot levels of weird.”

“Oh.” That was never a good sign.

Dick blinked, uncrossing his arms so he could stroll closer to peer over his brother’s shoulder at the information in front of him. Scanning the readings, he could see what the kid had meant by “weird” and he wasn’t wrong. “How… is that possible?”

Tim rubbed his chin in the way he often did when he was thinking hard about something. “It shouldn’t be. Beta females cannot get pregnant and, even if it were remotely possible, there hasn’t been a recorded Beta carrying a child to term in-”

“Over 90 years.” Dick sucked in a breath through his teeth. “And even that was speculated to be a hoax. I know. So the follow up question is: Why does her blood sample read like an Omega who has just recently given birth?”

“It’s not just that, look here...” Tim reached out to the screen and scrolled it down with a single finger. “See that?” 

God bless touch screen technology.

Dick squinted at the sequence before him. “Looks like the same chemical compound we found in the other victims.”

And that’s when Tim’s fingers resumed their drumming on the desk. “Similar but not the same. There are minor adjustments made here,” he points, “and here. Whoever is doing this is still actively adjusting the chemical compounds they’re injecting the victims with but I don’t recognize some of these base elements. Like… At all.” 

“Alien tech?”

“Possibly.” The third Robin leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers like a classic villain out of a cartoon that Dick used to watch on Saturday mornings. Not for the first time he found himself grateful that Timothy Drake was on their side.

“Any ideas as to what they’re trying to do with it?”

“Nothing concrete but I can hazard a guess.”

“Alright, Sherlock, hit me with it because i’m running on fumes and I need some new avenues to explore.”

Uh oh. The look on Tim’s face was… uncomfortable, and that NEVER meant anything good.

“It looks like…” he paused so that he could turn and face Dick fully. “It looks like they’re trying to find a way to make Betas fertile again.”

And wasn’t THAT something?

Dick couldn’t help but tilt his head to the left in confusion. This had been a goal which medical science had been researching for decades but remained unsuccessful in gaining any traction on. In part because the Beta mutation directly affected the reproductive system, leaving Beta females and males with either incomplete or non-existent reproductive organs. The first several trial efforts to reverse the mutation had been made ten years ago and had also ended in catastrophic failure with no successful test subjects to ever resurface in the subsequent years. 

While having children was never high on Dick’s priority list, it kind of sucked having the option stripped from him before he was even officially born. 

The cake topper on that mountain of lame, however, was that the mutation equally affected one’s ability to form and keep a Bond. As in: capital B, Bond. Betas couldn’t bond or scent because they didn’t have the glands to do so with- they also didn’t go into heats or ruts and weren’t affected by those who could. Which, in retrospect, was possibly the only silver lining to the entire shitty situation. It certainly became useful when he took up the Robin mantle and he was sure Tim, a fellow Beta, would agree.

Dick had seen his fair share of ruts and heats and he wouldn’t be the first to state that he was kind of glad he missed the boat on all of THAT nonsense. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be trapped in one’s own body, a slave to their biology and instinct. The mere thought of it forced a cold chill down his spine like someone walking over his grave.

“--ick?” Tim was looking at him with a concerned expression that said Dick had zoned out and spent a second too long in his own head. 

“Yeah, sorry, what were you saying?”

His little brother’s expression morphed into a fun mix of concern and annoyance but instead of commenting on Dick’s space cadet moment, he pressed on with the topic at hand. Tim was just smart like that.

“I said that I need to see the police report on the newest victim.”

Grayson lifted an eyebrow and placed his hands on his hips, “Can’t you or O just hack the system and pull the electronic file?”

Tim’s expression melted into something that resembled exasperation. “I could, I can, and I did. The problem is: there IS no electronic file on this case. Or any of the Beta victim cases for that matter. Whatever is going on here, someone doesn’t want those files to be seen.” The second Robin spun in his chair to face his predecessor fully. “BUT, I’ll bet the entire Wayne Foundation on the fact that there will be a physical copy of the report in the precinct.”

Dick couldn’t argue with that logic. Having only a physical case file was the bare minimum one could get away with and not raise any red flags. It was easy enough to convince the Chief that you were worried about hackers and decided to keep the case file in a physical format only. Which… they wouldn’t be remiss in their concern (considering, you know, Tim just did exactly that) but the fact they felt the need to hide the file in the first place was fishy as hell- and Dick didn’t care for fish.

“Got it little buddy.” He managed a bright smile while patting the kid’s shoulder. “You did good, Tim. I’ll see to smuggling out the file tomorrow during my shift and we’ll go from there.”

Tim evidently agreed because he offered only the barest of nods before turning back to the computer and continuing on with his work. That was as good a sign as any for Dick to drag himself into a shower and then into bed for AT LEAST five hours. Tomorrow was going to be a painfully long day and he needed as much rest as he could get before then.

“Hey Dick…?”

Grayson stopped halfway towards the stairs, throwing a look over his shoulder towards the boy who was pointedly NOT looking at him. “Yeah Tim?”

A pause, heavy with careful consideration. “Be careful.” The kid’s gloved fingers hovered unmoving over the keyboard, a dead giveaway that this wasn’t a flippant request. “Please.”

He could feel himself squinting at the back of the Tim’s head, interested in the boy’s sudden need to express concern when that wasn’t something he typically did. And, wow, there was just a LOT to unpack there, but, Dick was tired and hungry and psychoanalyzing his family could wait until tomorrow. Or never. Hopefully never. That was Bruce’s thing anyway.

“Roger that, Tim. Don’t stay up too late.” He was grinning but only received a non-verbal response for all of his efforts. Ah, kids these days. No manners.

Dick shook his head, chuckling to himself as he resumed his assent towards the manor, content in the surety that Tim’s concern was misplaced and that everything would be okay.

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter features Dick, Jason and the tiny spaces that hold them together. Literally.


	3. Small Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick raids the record's room, breaks into the coroner's office and generally has a busy day with the help of another former Robin. Shenanigans and terrible word-play ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More somewhat-graphic talk about dead and mutilated bodies. Please mind the tags and consider yourself warned. 
> 
> Also, thank you to my amazing Beta reader Kookybun for always having my back and just generally being the best.

The Record’s Room of GCPD was located in the farthest corner of the basement, and crowded into a suffocatingly small room which had needed an expansion for the better part of the last decade. The air was thick with the dusty smell of old paper and boxes, a virtual graveyard of decaying cases stuffed into overflowing containers that had seen better days. It was a claustrophobic nightmare. Dick kinda liked it. 

He liked the way the piles and piles of cases and files in every open space absorbed sound like a recording studio and left the place blissfully silent. It warmed a nostalgic corner of his brain as it reminded him of the ancient library down on second where he had spent ample amounts of time when attending GCU. It was something about the lull of soundless calm that proved to be a much needed break from the hustle and bustle madness of Gotham.

Unfortunately for Dick, time was a luxury he could no longer afford. There were too many things -- no, that wasn’t right. There were too many PEOPLE depending on him to crack this case and find all those lost souls… or, at the very least, whatever remains they had left in their wake. He wasn’t a pessimistic person, he just knew the statistics and underlying facts- all of which were not looking good for the people already abducted. If the perpetrators really had a goal like the one Tim suspected, there was going to be a lot more bodies in their near future if he didn’t put a stop to it soon.

And as if the fates were lending him a helping hand, Dick tripped on a box half hidden by his feet and landed face first in front of a filing cabinet. This wouldn’t have been anything remarkable (embarrassing but not remarkable) if it hadn’t been for the fact that the bottom drawer’s handle was REALLY shiny. The kind of shiny that meant someone with greasy fingers had opened it recently -a striking contradiction to what the records keeper had said about no one being down here in the last two months. Which normally would make sense because, why would they be? All files were duplicated electronically then stored in the upstairs filing cabinets for a matter of five years, after which they were either revisited, refiled, or marked as cold and thrown down here to rot.

Dick sat up, dusted off his white gloves and then reached over to open the bottom drawer. 

Gotcha. 

In the far back, hidden behind cold cases from the early 70s, was a single manilla folder with a greasy smudge on the upper right corner. It was like winning the damn lottery. Triumphantly, Dick pulled the file out and set it carefully in his lap, opening the folder with great caution like it was rigged to explode. All things (and rogues gallery) considered, it was entirely possible that it WAS.

However, when nothing burst into flames or laughing gas upon its opening, he felt it was safe to plunder the information freely. And what greeted him was more than he had bargained for.

Page after page of developed photos with their corresponding negatives all detailing the mutilated body cases in Gotham over the last year. Lab work, police reports, eye witnesses… it was all there and in ghastly detail. Pushing down the rising nausea, he set to work scanning all the documents and uploading them to the private server Tim had supplied for the case. Unfortunately, Dick had a habit of reading while he worked and consequently (in this particular case) felt more than just his bile rising as he read. The fury and indignation only compounded upon itself when he noticed all the victims had copious amounts of chemicals pumped into their systems and varying levels of what appeared to be... botched surgery. Tim had been right afterall.

And the first victim was the worst.

Suzy Brown. Age 18. Registered Beta.

The photo clipped to the missing person’s report was the haunting image of a beautiful girl, caught with a wide smile that made the dimples in her cheeks stand out. She was kind looking with dark brown hair, fair skin and that little gleam of happiness trapped in the depths of her green eyes. Something about the splash of freckles across the ridge of her nose reminded him of Jason. A comparison he wish he hadn’t made when his eyes tripped over the next several photos documenting what had been left of her body when she was finally found. 

It wasn’t right. She looked like a wax figure with milky eyes staring into an unseen distance and matted hair caked in mud. Angry red lines of freshly healed surgical wounds criss-crossed her naked body, some still held together by stitches that looked barbaric in nature. Presumed victim number one; she was the girl who had been found in an abandoned warehouse, folded into an oil drum like a forgotten piece of refuse. 

The autopsy report that followed was even less pleasant than the crime scene photos. Her delicate system had been overloaded with Omegan hormones and what looked to be a makeshift artificial womb had replaced the original nonfunctioning one. Dick’s lunch was endeavoring to force its way back up as he glanced at the coroner’s note detailing the state of her other internal origins. It was... they were… a mess. So many parts had been moved, removed, or crudely hacked up in a way that made it rather self-evident why she didn’t survive. The early signs of toxic shock syndrome had already began to manifest in her system before she was overdosed with a lethal amount of anesthesia that was undoubtedly intentional.

He reeled back at that tiny fact, slapped by an ugly memory from his early Robin days. B and him had been chasing down a chemist working for Joker when the jerk had managed to dose him with an excessive amount of some paralytic drug. It hadn’t registered immediately but when it finally did, the decent was swift and brutal. He still had nightmares about the feeling of his body shutting down against his will, his lungs refusing to work as he fought to stay conscious and failed. If Batman hadn’t been there…

Grayson shuddered and closed the folder.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the number one Bat Technique for dealing with unbearable trauma: Compartmentalization! Dick was a MASTER of it. Especially in situations like today because today was not the day to have an anxiety attack -there simply wasn’t enough time for it. Not to say there was EVER an ideal time or place for it (or that he ever had 100% control over it), but saving the PTSD inducing reading for later was a good way to start. 

Having scanned all the developed photos and papers, he turned to put the folder back when he suddenly paused. What were the chances that there was more information hidden in here? What were the chances it would be gone by the time he came back to double check? Given the effort that was put into hiding the file itself…. pretty damn high. High enough that he turned his hesitation into action by quickly opening the damn thing back up, grabbing the negatives and shutting it again without another thought. From there he carefully placed the thick folder back from where he had plucked it and closed filing cabinet like he had never been there at all.

~*~

Dick suddenly choked on his water and, after the subsequent coughing fit, he managed to wheeze out a “Come again?” in Tim’s direction.

Tim, who was pointedly NOT looking at his older brother, continued flicking through the negatives he had brought back earlier that day. “I need you to break into the Gotham Coroner’s Office tonight.”

Dick squinted at this. 

“Why?” 

Not that he was squeamish or anything but there was something inherently creepy about a coroner’s office after midnight, especially with his history of superstitious family from before the vigilante life had become a reality. Meaning: he needed a good reason to go and wake the dead before he jauntily jumped to order. 

“Because we need the coroner's report on the mass graves.” 

“And let me guess, the files aren’t online anywhere?”

“Right on the money, Hunk Wonder.” Barbra’s disembodied voice filtered in from… somewhere. Probably the batcomputer where Tim was currently working but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was from (literally) anywhere else.

He groaned then, rubbing at his face. “And you’re asking ME to do this because…”

Tim paused in his typing to finally looked over at him, “B and the Demon are on patrol, O and I are still working on breaking down the unknown elements in these chemical compounds, and Red Hood... still isn’t in town. According to him.” The look on Tim’s face said he either didn’t believe Jason or he damn well knew NOT to believe Jason. 

“Fine. Fine.” Dick flapped a hand at his little brother. He still had a couple of hours before the building closed and a few more hours until it would be clear of its occupants. Or… its living occupants, that is. So, with that in mind, he headed towards the showers to wash away the daily grime and prep for the grimier evening.

~*~

By the time 2am had rolled around, Nightwing had been sitting on the roof across from the Gotham Coroner’s Office for two hours waiting on the janitor and night guard to take their first break. He had eaten all of his snacks and was progressively finding himself in that mind-numbingly bored place that all long-term surveillance lured you into. If he hadn’t been specifically tasked with this job, he would have run off hours ago to take care of some petty crimes and come back whenever he thought the coast might be clear. Of course, It was a much less effective form of surveillance and it generally only worked when the case wasn’t as life threatening as this one was so...here he was.

The low groan that escaped him said everything he couldn’t voice over the mic without being chastised.

“A little bird told me you might need some assistance.” 

While Nightwing hadn’t exactly jumped in the air and shrieked like a baby, his flinch was the Bat equivalent of doing so. And the digital laugh filtered from behind a voice modifier told him that the movement hadn’t gone unnoticed either. Great. Just what he needed.

“If by assistance you mean: Coffee. Sure.” Dick played off the surprise casually but the itch of being caught unaware nagged at him like an inconveniently placed mosquito bite. For crying in the dark, when was the last time anyone had been able to sneak up on him? Was he losing his touch or was his constant state of exhaustion beginning to wear at his finely tuned edges? Either was likely and equally bad news for him. 

“Well then you’re in luck.” Red Hood dropped down next to Dick and placed a cup of coffee on the ground in front of him. Dick stared at the cup like it had personally offended him because... really? Jason had managed to not only sneak up on him but do it while carrying a cup of full coffee? Somewhere in the distance, Bruce was rolling in his cave. Heh.

“I need a vacation,” Nightwing grumbled, picking up the paper cup and carefully taking a sip. He trusted Jason not to drug him, an act that Tim would have called dumb and Bruce would have had kittens over, but that was why Bruce was Bruce, Tim was stuck at home and Dick was awesome. Ooo Mocha!

“You’re gonna be saying that all the way up to the pearly gates.”

“Awwwww Hood, I’m touched! You think I’ll get into heaven?”

Jason scoffed, a sound turned strange by the voiced modifier. “If any of us had a chance in hell, it’d be you, Dickface.”

He laughed and shoved at Red Hood’s shoulder before going back to his surprisingly delicious coffee. Delicious because it was exactly how he liked it and... he probably should have really thought more about how Jason knew EXACTLY how he liked his coffee, but he was too busy guzzling said coffee to care. Some things in life were better left a mystery. Knowing the full extent of his family’s stalking habits was probably one of them. 

Scratch that. Definitely one of them.

“I gotta move. My friends next door are going to take a smoke break in ten minutes and I need to…” He stretched with a yawn, “...be downstairs borrowing some files by then.” 

Talking through his yawns had been something he had started doing with age and hadn’t stopped doing in spite of Alfred’s disapproving head shakes and Tim’s consistent rant of “I.can’t.understand.you. Yawn first, talk AFTER, Dick!” 

On second thought, it probably was BECAUSE of Timothy's little rants that doing it had become a habit in the first place. Dick considered it one of his sacred duties as an older brother to annoy the hell out of his younger siblings in whatever harmless little ways he could. It kept them human. He had missed the boat with Jason when he was younger, so, Tim and Damian were forced to take the brunt of his older sibling affection. It also helped that neither of them pointed guns at his head when he did it, Jason.

“Are you asking me for help, Yawns-a-lot?” Jay was pulling off his helmet, casually shaking out his hair in a way that always (read: frustratingly) managed to look good.

In another life, Jason Todd could have easily been a famous model. Dick was sure of it.

“Only if you feel like it. I could always use an extra pair of eyes.”

The other man just nodded to this, running a hand through his hair again before casually popping off with: “I’m sure they have a few extra pair of eyes not being used down-” Dick elbowed him in the stomach before he could finish.

~*~

Picking the lock to the roof access door had been a hell of a lot easier than expected. Granted, the building (like most of the city) was old and woefully in need of revisions, but still…

“Am I clear on alarms and surveillance, O?” Dick stood with his hand hovering over the doorknob, Jason at his back as they waited for confirmation. 

The pause felt longer than it should have been but, eventually, O’s voice crackled to life in his communicator. “All clear. You’re good to go boys.”

“Boys?” as in plural. Dick arched an eyebrow, turning the knob anyway.

“Unless there is something Red Hood had been meaning to disclose, then: yes. Boys.”

Dick glanced over his shoulder at Jason who merely shrugged. Hiding from Oracle in her own city was a futile effort but Dick was still a little surprised that she hadn’t let on to the fact that she knew another lost bird had finally returned to the nest. Then again, Babs and Jason had their own rather unique relationship with each other, both from similar trauma and mutual understanding. Weird how all that damage one crazy clown could managed only helped to forge a stronger bond amongst their family. Even more so than the Bat ever could. That probably wasn’t a good thing.

“Thanks, O.” Wing opened the door quietly and ushered Hood in, careful to close it softly behind them before they made their way to the basement. 

With only two employees watching the building at night (and both of them sitting on an extended smoking break outside the far end of the building), Dick felt at ease reaching their destination in a shockingly short amount of time. That is, until he opened the door to the actual lab. This wasn’t supposed to be a hard mission but it wasn’t a pleasant one either, whatwith the smell of death and antiseptic soap assaulting his senses the moment he pushed open the door. 

“So... what file are we looking for exactly?” Jay was casually trailing after him, undoubtedly using the air filtration function of his helmet to its fullest extent. Dick couldn’t say was he wasn’t just a little bit envious, still wrinkling his nose at the pungent odor that clung to the air regardless of the fact there weren’t any bodies in sight. It would seem that the smell of decay always lingered longer than what felt natural for any smell to haunt an area. Or maybe that was just the animal part of his brain freaking out and paying careful attention to any traces of death whenever possible. 

“The mass graves. Their files have been ‘conveniently’ left out of the computer databases so we’re looking for where the hard copies might be.”

Jay stopped walking and placed his hands on his hips. “Did you try the file room upstairs?”

Dick shook his head, moving towards a filing cabinet in the far corner past the giant freezer door and autopsy tables, “You can try if you want but I can almost guarantee they won’t be up there.”

“How do you figure?” Red huffed, crossing his arms and holding his ground stubbornly.

“It’s just a hunch, but, if it were me trying to keep these files quiet, the last place I would put them is somewhere anyone could find them.” Dick paused in front of the of the filing cabinets, pondering them for a minute before looking to his right at the tiny office behind a locked door. Nothing said “Investigate Me!” like a locked office door. And who was he to turn down a challenge? 

Dick smirked and pulled out his lock picks again. “You check the filing cabinets down here. I’m going to check the closet office.”

Jay’s silence was all the response he got until ten minutes, and a couple of filing cabinets later, they found a total of…

“Nothing.” The other man stood as an imposing force in the doorway of the world’s smallest office while Nightwing continued to search for all potential hiding places.

“It’s got to be here,” Dick hissed, feeling for a secret latch or button in the slide of the first desk drawer.

“Or,” Jay pushed off the doorframe, “and here me out on this one, it’s in the filing room upstairs.”

Dick was scowling at the other man’s feet from his spot under the desk by the time he conceded that those black combat boots MIGHT be right. It was entirely possible that the city coroner wasn’t apart of the cover up like he had suspected and that MAYBE the file really WOULD be where it was supposed to be. Which would also mean that he had wasted far too much time searching in the wrong spot for something that could have been found in the most obvious (and easy to reach) location. Damnit. 

With the intention of crawling out from under the desk, Nightwing shuffled in his spot but froze mid-motion when the clamor of the heavy metal door to the lab opening caught his attention like the roar of an atom bomb going off. Shit. Why hadn’t O warned them that someone was coming? He reached towards Jason’s leg to warn him but the guy was already dropping down to his knees and crawling under the table with him before he could finish the motion. 

Well this… could have been planned better.

The 3000 some-odd sterile lumens of the halogen bulbs lit up the lab and crept through the blinds covering the small window in door. Why did they even make doors with windows? It also pushed in through the cracked opening Jason had left in his haste to hide.

Fiddlesticks. This mission was rapidly turning sour and it had only just begun- seriously, where was Oracle when you needed her?

Ignoring the cramped space they had managed to stuff themselves into, Dick listened carefully to the sound of feet falling on the tile floor. He closed his eyes and stretched his mind so that he could tune into the details of the mystery guest’s walk. This allowed him to better guess who was on the verge of catching them and how to appropriately respond. 

Shuffle shuffle shuffle. 

Whoever they were, they dragged their feet when they walked and filled up the space with the sound of soft rubber soles scuffing along the tiles. A distinctly different sound than the sharp click or heavy thud of more solid soles found in boots. Meaning: it was the Janitor moving around downstairs and not the guard coming to check on any suspicious noises. While not ideal, it was easier to deal with an untrained civilian caught unaware than a trained professional on the hunt. Silver linings and all. With any luck, the guy would also be a Beta... or just scent blind. And considering the utter lack of rush in the movements he could hear, that was quite possibly the case.

Well that was at least ONE win in the books for them.

Dick let out the breath he had been holding and relaxed a little into the contortionist-worthy position he had been forced into when Jason had decided to join him in his hiding spot. His very VERY small hiding spot that should have not been able to fit ONE fully grown man, let alone two. And yet… here they were… jumbled together like a tragic game of Jenga gone wrong with Jason hunched over Dick who was uncomfortably squeezed into the smaller space below him. It vaguely reminded Dick of human Tetris.

...and now the tetris song would be stuck in his head for the rest of the night. Fantastic.

The shambling noises seemed to inanely continue for several more minutes before Dick got bored of focusing on them and let his mind wander. It had become apparent that the Janitor was just doing his job in the lab and the Bird-Brain Elites had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A common theme for all Robins, past and present. And probably future. Dick had to wonder if he hadn’t accidently set the precedent for THAT trend.

Resting his head against the built-in filling cabinet of the inclosed desk, he cursed his bad luck and the universe’s unerring interest in exploiting it. He seriously needed a vacation. Or maybe just a nap. A REALLY long nap. Yeah, he’d settle for a nap. 

With nothing better to do in the game of waiting (cousin to the game of stake-out) Dick took the opportunity to study the younger man in front of him. Something that could have been easier if Jay wasn’t wearing that damn helmet. Or if he was around the family more often in an amiable way. Either worked.

Dick sighed just thinking about it.

The noises from the main room told an uninspired story of mopping and cleaning while their collective breathing slowed to a steady matching pace, something he could only tell by the way Jason’s jacket rose and fell in sync with his own breath. Was it weird that he liked that? It was probably weird that he liked that. 

...Oh well.

Dick shifted, silently trying to find a more comfortable position upon realizing they were going to be trapped in that cramped space for at least another fifteen minutes. He could practically FEEL Jason giving him the stink-eye through the polished veneer of his red helmet; however, Dick chose to blissfully ignore it until he freed both of his feet from under them.

It wasn’t much but adjusting his legs so they were on either side of Jay helped a lot. No longer being forced into a human ball-shape meant his feet could get circulation and that aggravating pins and needles sensation could finally go away. Jason, on the other hand, seemed… less than pleased with this move, if his statuesque posture was anything to go by. Not that Dick cared, it was Jay's fault for deciding to crowd him in the tiny space under the desk like it was the only viable hiding spot in the first place.

Which… It probably was but...

Whatever. Beggars can't be choosers, Jason.

Dick wiggled his toes inside his boots and eased himself into the long wait, counting the minutes that dragged by like a drunk slugging through molasses. It was painfully boring. Jay seemed particularly susceptible to it by the way he half heartedly danced back and forth to keep his feet from going numb, something that was bound to be a losing battle. And, sure enough, five minutes later he was manhandling Dick up so that he could arrange himself more comfortably into a sitting position. 

Such Alpha, much roar. Heh.

Amusement tickled at the corner of his lips, tugging at them until he relented by grinning like an idiot. Jason really did embody the alpha stereotype pretty well. Big, strong, aggressive… Protective. He was going to make some Omega very happy one day. Hopefully.

‘Why are you smiling like that?’ Hood signed, head tilted slightly to the left in a tell of confusion.

Dick merely continued to smile but eventually accompanied it with a shrug. Such a casual gesture that he very well KNEW would bug the kid. Or, rather, bug the grown-up-and-rakish-pain-in-the-butt MAN.

Without a doubt, Jason was scowling at him from behind the mask now as he rapidly signed, ‘Seriously. WHAT?’

Still amused by this, Dick finally gave and signed back, ‘Just thinking about you being a good Alpha to a cute Omega someday.’

‘What the fuck?’ was the immediate response.

‘What? I have hopes and dreams for all the Robins, even you.’

‘That's not-- Why do you think it will be an Omega?’

Dick blinked dumbly at that.

Huh.

How… had he never considered that Jason might want to date someone who wasn't an Omega? It wasn't like Jaybird was known for being standard by any stretch of the imagination (Dick wasn't so typical either) but he just ...hadn't thought about it. And now he looked like a giant ass. 

Sheepishly, Dick signed back, 'Sorry, I didn't mean to assume. Are you…’ he paused to think about it, ‘are you interested in Omegas at all or…?’

Jason was tense again, gloved fingers tapping against Dick's outer leg like he was nervous. Pfff. Jay had no reason to be nervous, Dick wouldn't judge him for that kind of thing.

‘They're fine.’

He huffed a silent laugh. ‘So you're more into Alphas?’

And for a flicker of a moment, Jason’s movements became extraordinarily still -hand paused with hesitance in a way that read like contemplation. He’d be willing to bet that under that red helmet was a furrowed brow with an intense look staring right through him. It was a relief then, after what felt like lifetimes stretched out into one long moment, Jason’s gloved fingers flexed and he responded.

‘'I… Like Betas too…’

He didn’t understand the meaning of the reluctance in the admission but the hunch of Jason's shoulders said he was embarrassed and that broke Dick's heart. It was insane how society treated secondary genders as if that were the ONLY important aspect of a person. Like how all Alphas were taught to be the strong, stoic heads of a households, married to an Omega that they have successfully bred to carry on the family name (by having more Alphas). It was an impressive amount of weight upon their shoulders because so much was expected of them and so little of everyone else.

Take Omegas, for example.

By contrast, Omegas were babymakers, brides and house wives; told that their only aspersion in life should be to please their Alpha. It made Dick sick just thinking about it, the way the laws insisted all Omega were fragile creatures that needed to be protected and making it mandatory for them to always have an Alpha escort them in public. It was merely a stepping stone for the mountain of bullshit laws that followed.

Being born a Beta may have meant you were born sterile but it also meant you were FREE. No one expected anything of the Betas, they just shipped them off to convents and monasteries and hoped for the best. Hell, Betas (like the exceptionally wealthy) were even an exception to the One-Child law because… how could your family bloodline possibly continue with your only child being a sterile one?

Everyone wanted THEIR child to be an Alpha and someone else's kid to be an Omega. If Dick had been alive and old enough to make a difference, he undoubtedly would have fought the progressively terrible family laws with everything he had. It didn't take a genius to see where these kinds of laws and social mindsets would go.

And yet, people had the gall to be SURPRISED when there was a sudden and painful spike in omegan infanticide. Something that was naturally followed by the inevitable kidnapping and selling of child Omega brides in the subsequent years.

Sure, the population dropped like the family laws had intended, but at what cost?

A world overrun by Alphas who often committed suicide from all the social pressure? Legally enslaved Omegas being kept in harems to please the wealthy or sold off and gifted like collateral, a rise in human trafficking and the invention of babymills? Their world was a terrible mess and only getting worse by the day as desperation set in.

So, yeah, it broke his heart to think that Jason would worry about Dick thinking less of him for wanting more than what was expected of him.

‘Well, good. SOMEONE'S gotta love the broken ones too,’ he grinned as he joked and carefully skirted around the awful truth. 

Suddenly, Jason flipped up the face cover of his helmet and met Dick's eyes with a furious gaze. There was a green glow to his glare in the dim light and the complete lack of space between them made it all the more obvious and… intimidating. Disconnectedly, he wondered if Jason’s anger smelled like fire.

The other man raised his hands and- holy cow, was he shaking? What on Earth had he said to piss Jay off that badly?

'You-’ the other started but didn't get any further before the lights unexpectedly turned off and the sound of a closing door echoed through the space. Oh right. Mission.

To avoid further confrontation, Dick rolled to his side and gracelessly flopped out from under the desk in his attempt to crawl away. It's not that he was afraid of how Jason would react, it was more that he knew all too well that sometimes walking away from their heated conversations was the best course of action. 

Don't throw gas on the fire, Dick.

Don't throw gas--

Jason latched one hand tightly onto his thigh, refusing to let the acrobat move any further away than he already had while pushing at Dick’s shoulder until he was flat on his back and staring up at the looming figure above him. The positioning was awkward at best and highly inappropriate at worst, something Jay didn’t seem to care about as he intently leaning over him with a grip tighter than death. Honestly, Dick didn’t know what to think about Jason pressing him into the floor from between his legs and, yeah, he could have easily thrown the Alpha off but his curiosity always got the best of him. So he waited patiently with his heart in his throat and watched the rapidly changing emotions play out on Jay's exposed face in quick succession.

Then, at last, Jay spoke. “You're not broken.”

With the silence shattered, the statement felt profound. However, it was the utterly sincere and determined look Jason gave him afterwards that was the most… moving... aspect of the statement. It gave him pause, forced him to reexamine the situation with a careful mind as he stared at the man above him.

Jeez. It felt like it was just yesterday that his Little Wing was a bratty, scrawny kid with knobby knees. And now… he was something else entirely. 

“Thank you,” Grayson swallowed around the lump in his throat before Jay finally released him and slowly got to his feet, offering a hand to help pull him off the floor afterwards. 

“Now let's get upstairs to the FILLING ROOM and find that stupid case folder.”

Dick took the extended hand, rolled his eyes and half hoped Red Hood was wrong about the file location. Mostly because his smug commentary for the following weeks would be unbearably obnoxious and, if he decided to tell ANYONE else, equally never-ending.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jay are two awkward ducks dancing around each other. This trend will only become more pronounced as the story continues and, eventually, changes point of views. Slow burn guys. Slow. Fucking. Burn. I'msosorry.


	4. The Talking Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick delves further into the case and realizes that he has a deeper connection to it than he previously realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a little early this week so enjoy :D!
> 
> ~*!Warning!*~  
>  Descriptions of dead bodies, body mutilation, abuse, horror themes and all around creepy vibes. Please mind the tags and take them seriously :)!

(One Year Earlier…)

“Please…” Her bottom lip trembled, voice barely making it past her lips. 

She was terrified of him. The way she hunched in on herself, arms coiled around her own body as she fought to control her shaking. It wasn’t okay. No part of this was okay. 

“Please, don’t arrest me…” Her voice was etched with the same desperation welling up in her brown eyes and it made Dick nauseous.

“Where is your Guardian?” He tried for casual, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. It wasn’t really helping but it was all he could do to try and calm the young girl down so as not to attract more attention. He couldn’t smell it but Dick was certain she was filling the air with frightened and distressed Omega pheromones and that would only attract the wrong kind of attention.

“I can’t…” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, hyperventilating as she fixed her gaze on the sidewalk. “I can’t go back. I can’t do it. I can’t…” But the words meant to follow only crumbled into broken sobs filled with panic. It hurt just to hear it.

“Hey hey hey…” Dick soothed, crouching down to make himself smaller and less intimidating. “I’m not going to take you anywhere you don’t want to be. But I need to know what’s going on so that we can make a safe decision together, okay?”

He had seen cases like this before, Omegas running away from their Alpha guardians when they turned out to be less of a “guardian” and more of an abuser. It was a tragically common situation in the States proliferated by the Family Laws- laws which were created to protect Omegas; however, unsurprisingly, only ended up making them more vulnerable than before. It frustrated Dick to no ends that a registered Omega was (all but in name) the property of whatever Alpha claimed them; be them family, mates or otherwise. This, of course, meant that Omegas caught without escorts were to be arrested and detained until their Alpha could be contacted to come retrieve them. And if the Omega had no registered Alpha? Well, they were then enrolled into “work programs” by the state, intended to keep Omegas safe and off the streets until a proper Alpha could be found. 

Dick knew as well as the next man that these “work programs” were nothing more than indentured servitude and a “proper Alpha” was whoever could prove they had even the flimsiest of claims over the Omega in question. It was corrupt as hell and Dick hated it with a passion.

“Sure…” came the eventual, defeated, reply. 

She rubbed at her face with the back of her hand, doing her best to stop the tears from falling and stealing her expression into something unreadable. It hurt to watch. She couldn’t have been older than 15 but the look in her eyes was impossibly older than that- and that’s when he realized that this probably wasn’t her first offense. She had all the markers of someone who had been caught in the act of running away before and she obviously didn’t expect a Beta officer to take any pity on her or her situation. The realization hurt like a broken heart.

“So…” Dick offered the kindest smile in his arsenal, “My name is Officer Grayson, what’s yours?”

“Jane.” 

“Like Jane Austen?” 

“You’ve heard of her?” A glimmer of hope sparked to life in those brown eyes and Dick found a dire need to shelter it and keep it alive.

“Have I ever!” He gave an easy laugh of encouragement. “My little brother used to collect all of her works- talked a lot about how he was going to be a writer too someday.” The bittersweet memories tasted like sorrow on his tongue and looked like a little freckled-face Jason with a bloody lip and stubborn glare firmly in place. That boy that didn’t care WHAT your gender or secondary gender was, If he liked you: he liked you. And if you pissed him off, you had better hope you had a damn good dental plan (as many kids in his school that year found out shortly after making fun of him for idolizing a famous Omegan author). Dick had never been more proud of someone in his entire life. 

He was still smiling, still kneeling in front of the girl with empty hands, when he said, “I know a great little diner around the corner that makes the best milkshakes in Gotham. How about you and I get a couple and talk about Miss Austin for a while?”

Her eyes were following his every movement, suspiciously watching him for any sign of deception before giving even the slightest of nods to mark her agreement. That was reasonable. With how corrupt the police force was starting to look, he really couldn’t blame her for being weary of him. 

“Great!” he beamed, slowly standing and offering her an elbow so as not to place his hands on her first. 

The look of gratitude that swept across her face only further established what he had been suspecting all along. Omegas didn’t just run away from home because they were being stubborn or silly or rebellious; they ran away because they’d rather risk going to jail than dealing with their current situation another second. It was the same reason Omegan suicide was on the rise in what he considered to be frightening proportions, with very little being done to stop it outside of “medicating the hysteria.” An antiquated term for brainwashing if you asked him.

Things HAD to change and they had to change soon or the house of cards their whole society was built upon would finally collapse and take out everyone out with it. 

~*~ 

(Present Day)

“Did you get the files?” Tim was on him before Dick could even get his helmet off, practically vibrating with anticipation filtered through expectation.

It would have been cute if it weren’t five in the morning and Dick wasn’t so exhausted from searching the coroner’s office for what felt like non-existent documents. 

“Yes. And in case you were wondering: they were NOT in the records room.” Jason.

“...Oh. Okay….” Tim was giving him one of his patented ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about but I’m sure if I did, I’d have to call you an idiot’ looks. 

Dick just more or less accepted it in favor of handing the kid a hard case file and a couple of tubes filled with material so that he could hit the showers in peace. 

“What’s in the vials?”

“Tissue Samples,” was all that Dick felt like clarifying. “They need chemical analysis to verify what’s written in the autopsy reports. I trust you can manage that while I sleep for the next six months?”

When he looked over his shoulder to make sure the kid was listening, Tim was already gone. Well then. Timothy Drake was going to put the rest of them to shame if he kept up with THAT level of over-achieving detective work. Dick was sure B couldn’t have been more proud and, for once, he could relate.

~*~ 

Dick starred at the corpse on the table. 

She was small, probably smaller than Dami, and made to look even more so by the ratio of her size to the autopsy table she was stretched out upon. Her stillness felt wrong in a way that defied nature, as if he were looking at the impossible instead of the lifeless body of a 16-year-old girl. He wanted to shake her. Wanted to wake her up and insist that she was just sleeping, however, the pallor of her ashen skin and the rot around the hole in her head made that action absurd. She wasn’t ever going to wake up again.

He stared intently at her face, trying to piece together what it was that made her so familiar. The slope of her thin nose, the perk of her cupid’s bow… it wasn’t until her faded brown eyes opened that he made the connection.

He knew this girl.

Her jaw cracked open and made a ghastly sound as a dry and raspy whisper escaped the space between her blue lips.

“Jane,” the voice hissed.

“Jane Austen.” He replied, frowning as he tried to remember what she looked like when she was alive. 

“They took me, Officer Grayson.” 

“I know,” he mumbled, transfixed by the sight of her and how different she looked from the flashes of memories he could still reach. Leaning in closer to examine the open wound in the center of her forehead, he let out a short breath of frustration. “But why?”

By contrast: Jane didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn't move, but managed to speak all the same. “Why else would anyone take a runaway Omega?”

“Trafficking.” He answered, noticing the district lack of stippling around the edges of her head wound. “But then... why are you dead?”

Jane didn’t answer. 

“Did you run away from them?” He tried again

“My feet are clean.” She hissed.

“Did you fight them?”

“My hands are clean.”

“So why kill you then?”

“Why do you throw anything away?”

Dick reached out to brushed the matted strands of blond hair away from her face. “Because it's no longer of any use.”

“Am I of use to you?” 

Her head abruptly jerked to the side, bones cracking and grinding against the laws of rigor mortis in the process. Grayson felt his heart pick up a beat as that sense of wrongness became more pervasive.

“Do you see it now?” Jane's voice was right in his ear and all he could do was stare at the back of her head and the mess of tangled blonde hair that nested there.

“No exit wound.” He breathed quietly, finally feeling a brush of fear creep along his skin as he tried to understand what she was telling him.

“You wouldn't waste drugs on defective livestock.”

“Defective?” He squinted.

“Ask Jason.”

“...What? Why Jason?”

“Wake up.”

He did.

~*~

The clock was chiming noon by the time Dick rolled out of bed, having only managed to scrape together a few hours of restless sleep. The case was wearing at him, filling his head with nightmares of dead girls and situations he couldn't fix. 

It was both helpful and terrifying- and all around NOT good for peaceful sleep. Then again, neither was working on a case in the wee hours of the morning until he passed out from exhaustion with the case folder plastered to his face. He had been so caught up in staring at the the victim's photo that he hadn't noticed when waking turned into dreaming and photos became corpses. 

Pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt, it hit Dick all at once that his dreaming self hadn't been wrong about any of his observations. He really HAD known Jane, and Jane really HAD been killed by a blow to the head like so many other Omegas discovered in the mass graves. 

 

The problem lay in the fact that the way in which she expired was so different from the Beta Killer M.O. that he was starting to wonder if the cases really were related after all. Halfway to the dining hall, Jane's echoed inside his mind:

You wouldn't waste drugs on defective livestock.

Wouldn’t waste drugs...

Dick opened the folder once he reached the breakfast nook and reexamined the lab reports stashed there. The notes were sparse as they were slim but rather telling if you knew what to look for. According to the medical examiner, Jane and the other Omegas had been murdered with a long metal object not consistent with a bullet like he had expected but, rather, a cattle gun. Like the kind you’d use to kill livestock. 

That familiar chill was back.

Reading further down, Dick could see that the medical examiner had also noted that all of the Omega he could still test showed signs of having given birth within days of their murder. And they must have been murdered in waves because the rate of decomposition on the bodies varied in groups. Whoever these people were, they were systematic, structured and cold as hell. The pregnant omegas in their “care” weren’t people… they were livestock. 

So, he got that much, but what he didn’t understand was: why were they considered defective? And what did any of this have to do with Jason?

Dick rubbed at his face and dropped his head to the table in frustration. So many dead ends and not enough clues.

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So whenever I hear a detective mention how the dead "talk" to them, I think about the music video "Of The Night" by Bastille. It's creepy and perfectly represents my mental image on that concept. You should totally watch it if you don't mind talking dead bodies/crime scenes. It's kind of the theme song for this chapter.


	5. When the Bat is away...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick finally convinces Jay to come home with him. Also... movie night and family bonding.
> 
> Also, Tim is a good kid and deserves praise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my amazing Beta reader Kookybun who is willing fix my fuck ups in a timely manner XD lol
> 
> Also, big shout out to everyone commenting: Thank you so much! it keeps me motivated to post even when I'm drowning in work because, sincerely, my blood is made of caffeine, sheer willpower and ao3 comments. Yes I am, in fact, a monster. Thank you for asking :D!

“I'm sorry, I think I'm having a stroke. What did you just say to me?”

Dick nearly broke himself rolling his eyes to the heavens; however, an amused smile played across his lips anyway as he silently thanked the barista for his coffee. Or “coffee flavored milkshake,” as Jay would put it. Taking a sip, Dick enjoyed the sweet tang of his cold brew “milkshake” settling on his tongue in the same way he enjoyed the late morning sun warming his skin the moment they stepped outside. It was the little things in life that could make or break a good day and today was going to be a good day, he was sure of it. So sure of it, in fact, that he had texted Jaybird about a little impromptu meeting after waking up warm and content in the lush pillows of his bed.

“Relax.” The eldest mollified, flapping a hand at his younger counterpart as if to shoo away all the aggression being directed at him. “B has… work. Out of town. Waaaaay out of town.” He casually (and subtly) motioned towards the sky.

“So you decided to sneak me into your house while Daddy is out of town? Dickie, I’m shocked. And frankly, a little turned on...”

“Jason.” Dick gave him the flattest look in his arsenal. “It’s YOUR home, too.”

When Jay shifted gears and appeared to be gearing up for a visceral response, Dick hurriedly cut in with a casual: “And Alfred misses you too,” which took all the wind right out of Jay’s sails.

Ten points for Grayson! Once again, a beautifully planned and executed family trap success.

“Fine,” the young man huffed around his cup of black coffee, before adding a petulant: “For Alf,” right after.

Dick couldn’t have stopped his pleased smile from breaking free even if he wanted to. Not when all the good feelings bubbling up inside him threatened to burst out at the seams, as if the human body was far too small a container for all the light he had tapped inside of him.

There was something particularly warming about the idea of having Jason home again. Of having ALL the robins home again, at the same time no less, to fill up the empty manner with noise and LIFE. He needed this, even if it could only happen while Bruce was in the far reaches of space, he’d take it. Babs used to joke that he should have been born an Omega with how seriously he took the ideas of Home and Family, however, Dick would insist that it came from having excellent examples of how a family should act. Prior to his parents death, that is. 

Truth be told, the circus WAS his family in every important way but blood. If the state had been willing to allow the circus on a whole (or any of its individual members) to adopt him, they would have. In a heartbeat. He knew this then and he cherishes the information now, keeping it close to his heart whenever he was feeling lonely in the eerily quiet wings of Wayne manor.

“You sure the Bat Brats are going to be okay with this?” Jason was verbally pouting and Dick knew it.

“They’ll totally be okay with it…”

~*~

“I am NOT okay with this,” Damian crossed his arms petulantly as he stared down his nose at Jason. 

Dick always wondered how Dami managed such an impressive feat when he was at least a foot smaller than anyone else in the house. Maybe it was his Alpha scent? Jason HAD told him once that the smell was oppressive with how pungent it could be but Dick never gave it much additional thought outside of that.

“Whoa there Little D,” Dick laughed as he walked, quietly placing himself in between the two huffing Alphas. The last thing he wanted to do on his only day off was break up a stupid alpha fight over nothing. Especially when those Alphas were family and equally as precious to him, alibet in different ways. “It’ll only be for a couple of days while he helps me on my case.”

Damian sniffed at that, wrinkling his adorably regal little nose at the reminder of the case… or possibly Jason… or the situation at hand. Or… hell, Dick couldn’t tell. But in either case, the younger male backed down without a fight and only the hint of a grumble about swines and pearls. All things considered, that went over a lot better than he had expected it to.

When he glanced over his shoulder at the other half of the equation behind him, Jason appeared to be relaxed and unthreatened. If it wasn’t for the tension bunching up his shoulders, Dick would have even been inclined to believe it. Little Wing was good at hiding his emotions but Dick was far more adept at reading him than most.

“Alfred’s in the kitchen.” He offered a kind smile.

The sharp edges of hostility dulled at the statement and Jay merely nodded, making his way towards the kitchen with little comment on what had just occurred. It was progress. Not even a year ago Jason would have flown off the handle and left at even the slightest suggestion of being unwelcomed in the manor. Either he was learning to not let Damian’s attitude get to him or he was finally starting to accept that he was family and this was his home any time he wanted it to be. Knowing Jason, it was probably the former rather than the latter. But one could only hope…

Traversing down to the batcave was a slow journey in which he dragged his feet to prolong the last vestiges of his free time. This was not to say that he didn’t want to work on his case, just that he HAD been working on it non-stop for months and it was really starting to get to him. Al (and Bruce after being ‘talked to’ by Al) had suggested he take a day to rest and recoup so that he could look at the case with a fresh mind. Dick had spent thirty seconds hedging on a response when Tim popped in and said he’d help take a look. The relief he felt in that moment was only comparable to narrowly missing a bullet aimed to kill.

When his right foot finally left the last step, Dick straightened his shoulders and made his way over to the statue named Tim who sat frozen at the batcomputer. It was kind of eerie.  
No, scratch that, it was definitely eerie. The kid didn’t even blink as he watched that data scroll by. No way that was good for his eyesight. Dick was reaching for the pulse point at his neck to make sure Tim wasn’t dead when the kid finally turned and actually looked at him. 

Dick absolutely did NOT yelp in surprise, even if the complaining bats fluttering about the cave said otherwise. The bats eventually settled and Timothy patiently waited for him to calm down and speak first, gracefully not commenting on Dick’s unwarranted reaction.

“What news?” 

Tim solemnly shook his head and Dick mentally braced himself.

“You were right, the Beta deaths and the mass graves ARE connected.”

Dick’s eyebrows rose to his hairline and Tim simply tucked his feet underneath himself in the big leather chair. God, he looked so small in comparison. The oversized long sleeve Superboy shirt threatening to fall off one shoulder wasn’t helping any. No way that shirt was Tim’s. In fact… Dick squinted at the too-big plaid pajama pants suspiciously...

“There were so many strange chemicals being pumped into the Beta vics that I almost overlooked the most common and obvious one: anastesia.”

“Right… but if it’s so common, how is that helpful?”

Tim smiled in a way that reminded Dick of a cat playing with a mouse. “You know that every drug has a patent, correct?”

Dick blinked at that. “Yes…”

“Well, the patents are specifically based around the Markush structures which are distinct enough to allow for individual identification in the event of a lawsuit, or what have you.”

“So what about generic drugs?”

“That’s the biggest hurdle; drug patents only last for about 20 years. You know, enough time for the inventors to make a profit before any other company can copy the chemical compounds and make their own versions of it. In theory anyway.”

“Okay, but, isn’t most anestesia generic?”

“Usually, yes. However, this particular version has been tweaked for longevity and the difference was seemed like it might be enough to warrant its own patent.”

“Given your excitement, I take it that it was?”

“Yes!” Tim’s face resembled a mad scientist declaring Eurika. The slightly crazed look in his eye would have been enough to worry Dick if he hadn’t been so invested in hearing more. “And, as a point of interest, it should be noted that the patent is VERY new.”

“How new?”

“About as new as the first Beta victim.”

Dick’s stomach clenched at the news, feelings warring between excitement and nausea. This was it. This was the break they had been looking for.

“Tim, you’re a genius!” Dick cheered, throwing his arms around his little brother who looked particularly startled by the sudden physical affection.

“Don’t sing my praises yet.” The teenager awkwardly patted Dick on the back. Their family was so painfully broken. “The pharmaceutical company is legitimate and has been around for quite some time, so, it’s entirely possible that this link is another dead end.”

The news was a heavy burden and Dick wilted like a sun-starved flower under its weight. Tim, who was perceptive and occasionally compassionate, noticed the change and rapidly course corrected, as if he could somehow win the hope back into Dick’s eyes. Tim always took on too much- just another prime example of why Dick should spend more time with the boy outside of working on cases. It was startlingly easy to forget that Timothy Drake-Wayne was still a kid in many respects and craved approval more than most thanks to Bruce and his bad habit of withholding praise.

“-ut it’s worth looking into, so I hacked their accounts receivable and am currently running traces on all the companies who have purchased this particular compound in the last two years so I can find any anomalies… if there ARE any anomalies.”

Dick blinked, realizing he had tuned in and out and back in again without meaning to. That did not bode well for the direction his insomnia was taking him. Maybe power napping like Alfred had suggested wasn’t such a bad idea after all. To cover the lapse in attention, Dick reached out and ruffled the soft black locks of Tim’s messy hair and encouraged him with a patented Dick Grayson 100 watt smile(™). 

“Good job Tim!” And he meant it. Because SOMEONE had to praise the kid for all of his hard work ONCE in a while. Bruce.

Tim swatted his hands away but didn’t stop his cat-grin from making an appearance. Yeah… the kid would be okay. And with that in mind, Dick headed back up the stairs to make sure the rest of the bats would be equally okay.

And, as it turned out, they were fine. Mostly. Alfred had scolded Damian for telling Titus to bite Jason and then scolded Jason for instigating the argument which led to Damian’s scolding in the first place. Al may have been an aging Beta but he wasn’t afraid to put a couple of squirrely Alphas in their place, and Dick admired that about him. Honestly, the man was half the reason that Dick took up the Robin mantel in the first place. 

Before Alfred, Dick had never seen a Beta tell an Alpha what to do and when to do it. Then B brought him home and, in more times than days in the first week, did Dick catch Alfred scolding Bruce. When he found out that Bruce was also THE Batman and Alf KNEW it, the situation became all the more surreal.

Not enough people gave Alfred Pennyworth the credit he was due.

Especially in situations like today, where the old man had both Jason and Damian scrubbing at the floor on their hands and knees in the kitchen as he lectured them on appropriate dining behavior in the Wayne manor. Dick tried not to laugh, he really did, but the sound broke out anyway. Much to Damian and Jason’s chagrin. 

“I told you guys not to fight.” He smiled at them, hand on hip as he observed both boys in full pout mode.

Damian shot up first, jabbing a finger in the general direction of the other Alpha. “Todd is an abhorrent heathen and should not be suffered in this house, Grayson!”

“And you’re a psycho demon child but they still let YOU stay,” Jay groused as he wiped up the last of... whatever it was that had landed on the floor. Apple juice? God he hoped that was apple juice. 

“Excuse you-” Damian started and Dick took that open opportunity to dive in and bearhug his little monster, effectively cutting off anything else he was going to say.

“Dami!” Dick’s voice was a smile in and of itself. “Why don’t we watch a movie tonight? All of us!”

“No.”

“Damian…”

“I’ll watch something with you, Pretty Bird.” 

Dick could FEEL the way Damian’s muscles went rigid all at once in his arms.

“I have changed my mind.”

“That quick, huh?” Jay was egging the kid on, undoubtedly, but Dick didn’t comment on the matter if it meant Movie Night for everyone. Alfred had evidently given up on the group, turning his back to them and shifting his attention to whatever smelt like heaven coming from the oven. Not that Dick could blame him- he was well aware of just how trying the younger bats could be as a group.

“SOMEONE-” Little D abruptly cut through his thoughts with surgical precision, “-must be present to supervise your deviant behavior around Grayson, Todd.”

“Deviant…?” Jay started, a foreign look crossing his face the moment he made direct eye contact with Damian, and Dick suddenly felt out of the loop. “I don’t think you have any room to talk, short stack.”

Match? Meet Fuse.

“SO!” Dick merrily detoured what felt like impending disaster with a casual. “What should we watch? I have some-”

“No Disney,” the other two interrupted in unison, not even bothering to LOOK at Dick as they shot him down. Cold blooded, man. Cold. Blooded.

“Fine.” He heaved a heartfelt sigh and steered the small group towards the entertainment room. “Dreamworks it is…”

~*TBC*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is already partially written so hopefully it'll come out a lot sooner than this one did. I hope. 
> 
> I swear I really am trying guys! 
> 
> Last: SumOfAllThings - Tag, you're it.


	6. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closer to answers. Closer to Jason. Closer to unknown danger. Dick is SO much closer than he can even imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' Thank you to everyone who left such wonderful comments. It really DOES inspire me to work on this story in what precious little free time I have. Honestly, it's you guys that keep me going :3
> 
> Also, an endless thank you to my amazing beta reader and bff, Kookybun, who has followed me through several fandoms and supported me as a writer every step of the way. She's my confidant, sounding board and personal cheerleader and I don't think I would have had the courage to keep writing without her.

“Hey pretty birdie birdie…”

Predators. 

Nightwing scanned the floor of the warehouse again, calculating his next move to the finest detail while the “predators” circled him with catcalls and leers. Six to one wasn’t the worst of odds, they just weren’t ideal either. Especially when The Six were all packing heat and The One was not.

“Birdie want a treat?” crowed the taunting Alpha who grabbed his own crotch as the circle around the vigilante became suffocating, leaving Nightwing to long for his days of invisibility. The days when most degenerate Alphas never even bothered to look in the direction of a Beta.

That, of course, all changed in the last decade as Scientists unpacked and mapped the entire human genome. Most of the aftereffect of their work had been entirely beneficial to the human race, but (and there is always a BUT) some of their conclusions were…. shocking. The results of which took a turn for the worse in a way that those poor scientists never saw coming. And Dick got it, he really did. It was natural that they wanted to share their revelations with the world, BUT (and there it is again) that last surprise was the catalyst for a downpour of dangerous rumors and assumptions en masse.

The worst of which came from the explosively controversial and loaded reports on the origins of a BETA. Honestly, Dick felt the whole world stutter to a halt the moment he read that simple article summary. And the more he read, the more the universe flew into a downward spiral of bigotry. He knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, what kind of negative repercussions came from telling the entire planet that Betas were simply BROKEN Omegas. And BOY was he was right.

“I heard your kind can take a knot like an Omega…”

Dick snapped back into focus, calculating the rate at which the circling Alphas were closing in and how much longer he’d have until the tension in the room finally snapped.

“What do ya say, little birdie?” One particularly daring individual challenged him by stepping in closer. “Hungry for a big strong Alpha to fill up that plush ass of yours? Bet you’d sound real pretty begging for my knot like a bitch in heat.”

Nightwing was… less than impressed… and he expressed this displeasure by sending a roundhouse kick right into the left temple of the offending Alpha. The idiot collapsed to the ground before he even knew what hit him and the amused grin coiling out on Dick’s face was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The stifling bubble of tension finally popped like an open invitation for the rest to finally attack.

And attack they did. It was like watching inner demons make form as outer beats that snarled and snapped their teeth at smaller prey. They weren’t even human anymore, just masses of rage and desire lunging for him. Nightwing braced himself for one hell of a fight when he was startled into stillness by a series of shots ringing out through the empty space. Four of the six pigs dropped instantly, each clutching a bleeding bodypart while the other two whirled about in confusion looking for the source of gunfire. Dick internally sighed.

“Gentlemen...” cracked a familiar synthesized voice from the oppressive darkness all around them. “Is that any way to treat a lady?”

Dick was not impressed. Again. In fact, he barely managed to stop himself from facepalming when Redhood bled out of the shadows like the Bat he was trained to be. In the man’s gloved hands sat literal smoking guns and though there was no way to tell, Dick was 90% certain Jason was smirking like a self-satisfied smug ass. Seriously, it was like the guy LIVED to get under Dick’s skin while they were “on the clock”, so to speak. Brat.

The older vigilante opened his mouth to comment when he was abruptly cut off by a pair of inhuman wrath-bearing screams. He had only enough time to turn and see the furious Alphas raise their guns at Red Hood before he was moving, faster than his brain had the time to come up with a reason why. In the space of a breath, both standing thugs seized with electricity before crumpling to the ground like wrapping paper on christmas morning. It wasn’t until the two of them were twitching on the ground unconscious that Nightwing felt it safe to speak again. 

“Really, Hood?” he groused, rising up to his full height as excess electricity arced off his escrima sticks. “A Lady?”

Red merely shrugged and holstered his guns. “Would you have prefered ‘Lovely Lady’? I know alliteration is kinda your thing.”

Dick scowled as his watched Jay pull out a bundle of zip ties and hand him half. “Your slander is duly noted and filed for later retribution.”

Red Hood replied by snorting at his comment and kneeling down to yank a groaning man’s arms behind his back. “What about: Buxom Beauty with a Bountiful Booty?” The zipties clicked together until they sufficiently rendered limbs useless. “Or--”

Dick was fairly certain that Hood didn’t even see the small chunk of concrete thrown at him until it was ricocheting off his helmet and hitting the thug he was zip tying in the head.

“What the Fu--”

“Language.” 

In apparent frustration, Red made a series of complicated hand gestures at him which, when translated, were quite vulgar and profane before devolving into the ASL equivalent of a keysmash. Nightwing, appropriately, ignored him.

~*~

“Tim found it!” Grayson burst into the kitchen, more explosive than the morning light. 

“Replacement found what now?” 

Dick shook his head. It was undoubtedly too early for Jason to process… life, let alone speech. So, being the merciful man that he was, he merely sent the younger man a warning look about the use of derogatory nicknames before continuing on with his news. Someday (soon), the second Robin would learn to cut the third some verbal slack. BUT (and there it is again) today was not that day and Dick didn’t have time to course correct the derogation. 

“TIM,” pointed look, “found the odd man out amongst our list of suspected clients.” He emphasized this point by dropping a thick stack of papers onto the kitchen table and only wincing a little at Alfreds noise of disapproval. The old Beta had finally given up on telling any of them not to bring work to the table around the time that Damian had moved in (it was a losing battle), but he evidently hadn’t given up on making them all feel REAL guilty about doing it. The only exception to this acquiescence was ‘Family Meal Time’, of which they were all still subjected to following the rules OR ELSE. And nobody wanted to figure out what Alfred’s “Or Else” was.

“Huh,” Jay contributed eloquently by mumbling into his mug and reaching out with his free hand to flip through the stack of documents. “Tranquil Inc? That doesn’t sound ominous for a company purchasing large quantities of sedatives or anything.”

“Yeah.” Amusement rippled through Dick as he pulled out the chair next to his Little Wing and plopped down. “My thoughts exactly. They’re also the only private organization on the list for which there is little record of.”

“If it quacks like a duck…”

“Then we have a lead.” 

“Alright,” Jay sat back and turned his full attention to him. “What’s the first move?”

He was positively preening under the attention, indulging in the causal display of leader acknowledgement and the warm fuzzies that came with it. Alphas weren’t typically known for giving their power away so freely, least of all to a Beta and NEVER to an Omega, but Jaybird wasn’t like other Alphas. At least not in the ways that mattered. Never had been and (hopefully) never would be.

“First we investigate the address listed on the purchase orders and then we see what can we dig up at the property tonight.”

Dick was met with an arched eyebrow and it gave him reason to pause.

“What?”

“Nothin,” the younger man shrugged and placed his coffee back on the table. “There was just a lot of “we’s in that statement.”

Oh? Oooh. He could FEEL his face falling into something that was absolutely NOT a pout as he reached over and picked up the abandoned mug from the table. It was still half full and warm with coffee, a comfort to his chilled hands when he wrapped them around it and carefully slid his gaze over to Jason. He was joking, Dick was sure of it. A thought that fueled the siren temptation to crack a joke of his own like he was circling a black hole. Resistance was futile. 

… Also, Dick needed to stop binge watching Star Trek at four in the morning.

“What? You don’t want to spend the night with me?” He batted his long eyelashes at Jay for the full effect.

Jason, by way of response, made a primal noise in the back of his throat and leaned in to Dick’s space so he could visibly suck in a breath of the air around him. He stayed like that for another thirty seconds, lingering with his lips slightly parted and a pleased expression on his face that Dick furrowed his eyebrows at. Betas didn’t have functioning scent glands like Alphas or Omegas did and no one had ever mentioned HIM in particular having any kind of distinct smell, and yet... here they were.

He tried to absently brush the thought off but this also wasn’t the first time Jay had done something like this. When the big alpha before him had still been a smaller, gangly, teenager with limbs too long and a conviction to wear Dick’s Robin colors, he would scent mark everything often. It drove Bruce crazy so, of course, Dick encouraged him just to spite B and, well, that encouragement led to the situation they were in right now. With him frozen and holding his breath as Jason pressed in further and, more gently than some would suspect the alpha was capable of, brushing their checks together. 

The gesture felt shockingly intimate. Not that scent marking was unheard of amongst family members but this was… something different. Something he wasn’t sure how to name yet, and not for a lack of want. The spark of radiating warmth flooded him like a bath of sunlight, gathering in his checks and spreading to his neck in a way that left him longing. In that moment, that perfectly quiet moment, he would have given anything to be ANYTHING other than scent blind. However, before he could do more than internally react to the escalating emotions, Jason plucked the mug out of his hands and dispelled the magic by leaning back with a grin that could shame the devil himself. 

“Buy a guy dinner first, Dickface.” 

And just like that, the mood was gone. Whisked away like a half forgotten dream that left him with a hollow ache. Good grief, what on earth was WRONG with him? 

He shook his head and considered the words before brightening at the statement. “Deal.”

“What?”

“Hot dogs THEN investigation. Good idea Little Wing!” 

Jay’s teal colored eyes casually rolled to the heavens when he reached out and picked up the cream and sugar from the center of the breakfast table. As he stirred in liberal amounts of both, he groused, “You’re fuckin lucky I’m a cheap date,” then handed the cup back to Dick.

The eldest just laughed and accepted the altered beverage. “Would you rather donuts from 7-11?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“What about stuffed bagel bites?”

“I’ll stuff YOUR bagel b--”

“Could you two PLEASE get a room that’s NOT the kitchen?” Tim’s voice crashed into them and unexpectedly burst the bubble Dick hadn’t realized they were in until it was gone. Jay further leaned out of his space (when had he gotten so close again?) and Dick shivered at the loss of warmth. 

“Jealous much, Timbo?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Tim chidded, not bothering to look in their direction as he pulled out a mug twice the size of Dick’s and proceeded to fill it to the brim with black coffee. The first Robin frowned at that and finally took a long pull of his own drink- humming with approval over the coffee being just the way he liked it.

Meaning to thank Jay, he turned to the side only to find Jason critically eyeing the comically large mug clutched in Tim’s small hands. It was stupidly big and blue and boasted a Superman crest on the front of it. It had also been his Christmas present to Tim last year as a way to tease the younger boy about all of his…. attachments. Honestly, Dick had just been taking a wild stab in the dark with THAT one, but by the way Tim’s face lit up like a christmas tree when he opened his gift, he was pretty sure he hit the bullseye. 

“Are you supposed to be drinking that much coffee in one go?” Jay squinted at Tim.

“Are YOU supposed to be flirting that openly with Dick at home?”

Speaking of faces like christmas lights, Dick had never seen Jason turn that particular shade of embarrassment before and now that he has...he finds it about as endearing as the man’s freckles. Which is to say: a lot. Next summer he was definitely going to have to take the whole family to the beach for a day in the sun and fun.  
~*~

 

At the stroke of two am, the loose gravel and remnants of refuse in the form of discarded cigarette butts and candy wrappers crunched under the weight of Dick’s motorcycle when he pulled up alongside an aging warehouse. The looming figure was heavy with decay and in the dead of night, it seemed alive -a tired beast groaning in the wind with a gaping maw that threatened to devour all who entered. In other words, it looked like every other warehouse on the docks in Gotham but, by contrast, Dick couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling he got from this one in particular.

A second bike growled in the distance as it ate up the miles between them, only coming to a stop when the rider was parked directly next to Dick. 

“Well look at that,” Red Hood spoke into the empty night. “I spy with my little eye something that looks like a proxy.”

The corners of Nightwing’s lips curled down, never having liked the digital quality of Jason’s voice through the hood. It just rubbed him the wrong way- the same wrong way that not being able to see Jay’s face did. Just another barrier between them when there felt like too many already.

Dick heaved a deep felt sigh then turned to acknowledge is companion. “It DOES look a little SLEEPY for an active clinic.”

Hood jerked violently in his direction.

“REALLY, Wing?”

“What?” He feigned innocence, “Don’t tell me you’re TIRED of my puns already?”

His younger companion made a noise that sounded like disgust but responded with: “No, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give it a REST,” anyway.

Oh ho? So Jay thought he could out-pun the master, did he? Dick’s grin was a wicked smile.

“Okay, okay. I’ll put the puns to BED. Wanna check out the back while I ZZZip up to the roof?”

“Sure,” Hood shrugged. “KNOCK yourself out.”

Dick didn’t bother to suppress his laughter as he took out his grappling hook and shot it at the roof’s ledge. He missed this- this fun and dumb banter of silly whimsy. Tim generally didn’t like bad puns, Damian thought they were beneath him and Bruce… well, Bruce was Bruce. Only Jason really took the time to play along with his bad jokes and he could never get enough of that. 

~*~

An hour later, both vigilanties found themselves standing in the center of an empty and clearly abandoned warehouse feeling totally justified in their lackadaisical approach towards the evening’s mission. This is not to say they weren’t taking the job seriously, just that they weren’t exactly bothering to be sneaky about it. In the end, the search hadn’t been a total bust but it hadn’t been terribly productive either.

“Do you wanna take a tire cast?” Nightwing crouched to get a closer look at the dirt floor full of imprints and markers that told a concerning story.

“No point, these guys are too careful for that to matter. Whatever truck they were using is probably in a ditch on fire somewhere.”

“Or a compactor.”

“Or another country.” The hesitation in Jason’s voice told Dick all he needed to know about what the other was thinking. “I’ll take a digital scan of them for later analysis just to be on the safe side.”

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that. Playing on the ‘safe side’ will ruin your ‘bad boy’ imagine.” 

Jay snorted, the sound of which was strange coming through a voice modifier as he crouched down next to Nightwing, visually capturing the tracks with his helmet. Dick spared Hood a half-second glance before turning his attention back to the ground where he spotted a different grouping of tracks not too far off to his right.

All amusement that had been playing on his face earlier, instantly died out. “They were barefoot.”

“What?” Red turned towards him and Nightwing took the opportunity to point at the space he had just been looking at.

“See that? Barefoot prints. Lots of them.”

“Lemme guess, they’re accompanied by small wheel tracks?”

He leaned over to take a closer look and, sure enough, spaced throughout the footprints were thin solid tracks of what seemed to be small wheels. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Hood was implying, having come to the same conclusion seconds later, but seeing all the tracks together was something else. Something like the confirmation of his suspicions which left a cold rock of anxiety in his gut.

“They were keeping victims here.” When had his voice gotten so shaky? “Do you think this was a clinic as well?”

“Doubt it.” Red Hood’s knees popped when he stood with a groan, a leftover complaint from the tribulations of a hard vigilante lifestyle. Dick felt that on a spiritual level. Honestly, if he didn’t do as much stretching and yoga as he did, he would probably would be creaking and popping with every move too. 

“Doubt it?” He stood as well and made a mental note to teach Jason proper yoga techniques.

“If they’re serious about their experiments then they won't chance infection from subpar health conditions. Under the radar or no, they clearly are trying to achieve something here and jeopardizing that with preventable issues would be unbelievably stupid. The kind of stupid that gets you caught, and since they have yet to be caught…”

“They wouldn’t be that stupid. Yeah, I get it.” Dick nodded. “There also doesn’t seem to be a sufficient power supply to support an operation like that anyway. I was checking the fuse boxes out back and they’re a rusted mess. No one has been drawing power from those death traps for at least a year or more.”

“Generators?”

“Maybe, but if they’re running a hospital of sorts, they’ll want a more stable power supply.”

“Not if they’re mobile.”

“Given the sheer number of missing persons suspected to be victims on the list that O compiled, we’re going to be looking for a permanent structure. The operation is just too large scale to be held in anything BUT a permanent structure.”

Jason was swearing up a storm like he could conjure the Devil with it and Dick took that opportunity to inspect the dirt some more. The footprints were made with solid impressions, no smudged signs of rush or running, just dozens of steady steps headed towards the loading dock.

“I bet this is… or WAS… a hold facility. There weren’t any barefoot impressions outside the warehouse and the condensed foot traffic in general implies that the numerous people who WERE here were brought in by truck and shipped out in the same manner. Not exactly normal clinic business practices.”

Red hood moved around and took a minute to finish collecting all the evidence within visible reach before finally pulling the helmet off his head, much to Dick’s relief. Even with the red domino still firmly in place, Dick felt it was a lot better than talking to a featureless mask.

“This is starting to look like the sex trafficking ring I busted up two years ago.”

He only had a couple seconds to revel in the sound of Jason’s actual voice before the sentence translated from dulcet tones into cold hard facts and... Oh. Oh damn.

“What makes you say that?”

“The group kept their vics in abandoned warehouses like cattle and took their shoes as a method to discourage running away. The foot and wheel traffic patterns reminds me of the clues I was following from Jump to Gotham. Not that they were the first group of premium assholes to think that kind of shit up but I can’t ignore the similarities either.”

“Anything in particular?” Dick tilted his head to the side and Jason picked his way over the prints towards him, once more standing inside his space like it was a natural place to be. Whenever Jay stood this close, he was distinctly reminded of how tall and BIG his Little Wing had filled out to be. The sting of lost time stabbed at him like regret and felt remarkably like heartbreak.

Jason, none the wiser, continued. “Location and Scale. Very few groups have the balls to operate a project of this magnitude in watched territory AND keep the same M.O. consistently.”

“Seems a little foolhardy to pull that kind of stunt right under the Bat’s nose.”

Jason scoffed for the umpth time that night, running a hand through his hair as Dick tracked the movement with his eyes. “Most major crime syndicates operate inside of Gotham. The money is too good to do otherwise, always plenty of corrupt customers to fuel a corrupt empire.”

“That’s bleak.” 

The younger man shrugged. “I call it work insurance.”

“Of course you do.” Dick was shaking his head but the tickle of laughter was on his tongue and he couldn’t hide it. Being around Jay always did that to him, brought out the humor in the most inappropriate situations, followed by laughter he was forced to stifle for the sake of propriety. 

Things were just so easy with Jason when he was in a good mood; the smiles, the laughter, the closeness… 

It was only on the bad days that Dick remembered why they weren’t closer.

Jay towered over him, barely a breath away, and it forced Dick to look up into those teal eyes made of broken glass. His gaze was sharp and always managed to make Dick feel laid open and bare under their scrutiny. As if Jason was looking for something and the intense focus he used sent a shiver down Dick’s spine. 

“What wrong, Pretty Bird? Don’t like my phrasing?” The husky rich quality of Jason’s lowered voice was like floating in honey and it was a far cry better than the electronic approximation of what his voice was supposed to sound like.

Allowing himself to drift towards the warmth of another body, Dick was keenly reminded of their conversation that morning. The way Jason had leaned in and brushed his scent against him, breathing in the air around them like it had an addictive quality he was unaware of. All Dick could make out was the smell of Jay’s aftershave and under that… a hint of clove cigarettes and…

“Cigarettes!” Dick startled both of them with his sudden outburst.

Jason’s lips curled into an annoyed frown. “I’ve already cut back to a pack a week, Wing. I’m not about to-”

“No no no,” He cut in. “I saw cigarette butts outside the building where we parked our bikes. I didn’t think about it when we first pulled up but those might be a good start for collecting dna.”

Jason dropped the frown, face completely neutral as he seemed to observe Dick’s face for reasons he wasn’t sure of. A moment later, he smirked and reached over to brush loose strands of hair from in front of Dick’s mask.

“Lead the way Goldie.”

~*~TBC~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer and closer to the climax of several different plot points and shit is gonna hit the fan reeeeeal soon. Enjoy these sweet chapters while they're here.
> 
> That being said, don't forget to tell me what you think? I'm super curious as to everyone's opinions and thoughts on where you think we're headed OR where you would like to see this story go.
> 
> I've been dropping foreshadowing and subtle hints but they'll probably become a bit more obvious in the next couple of chapters. Stay tuned and I will see you all shortly!


	7. It's all about the intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality hits Dick like a bite to the neck. And, officially, shit has started to hit the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! 
> 
> I know... It's been a while. A long while. And I'm so sorry for the unexpected hiatus, though I swear I hadn't meant to take this long to update. Life just kept jumping in the way :/
> 
> Anyway, here we are! All warnings and tags still apply but if you're this far, I assume you're well aware of that lol.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dick twisted the pair of tweezers holding a cigarette filter from side to side in his hand, interested in the way the gold foil caught the cave’s dim light and bounced it back to him. “What brand did you say these were again?”

Tim didn’t bother looking up from the computer he was typing on. “Sobranie Black Russian.”

“Are they expensive? They look expensive. Who smokes cigarettes with gold filters?”

“Dipshits trying to make a social status statement…. Say THAT three times fast.” Jason leaned against the desk Dick was sitting at so that he could birdwatch with ease, an amused grin curled onto his lips like a lazy cat while he tossed a fresh apple from hand to hand. “Unless you’re buying IN Russia, those suckers will put you back about $20 a pack if you’re thrifty and $50 if you’re not.”

Dick found himself scowling before he even gave his face permission to do so. “Is it worth it?” 

The other man shrugged and finally took a bite of his fruit. “Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking YOU, Monsieur Chimney-who-talks-with-his-mouth-full.” 

”Chimneys don’t have mouths.”

Dick leveled Jay with his best Alfred Disapproves™ look just to drive his point home. A point that became rather moot when teal eyes unflinchingly starred back and the man continued to obnoxiously chew his apple as loudly as possible. Dick was reasonably certain that Jason was just doing it to get under his skin and when the younger bird WINKED, his suspicions were confirmed. 

Punk. Who taught Jason to be such a little punk? Or, a Big Punk for that matter (given his towering stature). God, genetics were so unfair!

Jason, in spite of his childish teasing, actually swallowed the rest of his food down before speaking again. “If you want my honest opinion, I’m gonna have to go with a big fat NO. That shit is too expensive for the minute difference in taste and I have better things to blow my money on, if you get my drift...”

Dick politely ignored the way Jason waggled his eyebrows at him and gently placed the cigarette butt back in a dish surrounded by other dishes of discarded cigarettes that they had collected outside the warehouse two days ago. At first, when he saw such a distinctive looking object, he had been elated and was just POSITIVE they were going to get a DNA profile off of it. 

Well… they DID get a DNA profile but what they DIDN’T get was a MATCH. Nothing in CODIS, PACER or any State level databases. But the worst part? Nothing in the Batcomputer either… it was like the guy was a ghost. Or, and Dick really didn’t want to admit this, unrelated to the crime they were trying to solve. But if that were the case, who in their right mind would be down at Gotham docks smoking cigarettes too rich for the natives to bother with like it was a normal thing? 

No one, that’s who. 

Anyone with that kind of expendable income wouldn't be caught dead amongst the filth and grime of Gotham Docks. Not unless they had a really good reason, and the number of really good reasons (read: LEGAL reasons) were exactly… none. So they had the DNA of a suspicious individual with no criminal record and no real link to their case outside of where the DNA had been discovered. It was like having the golden ticket in your hand but no factory address to take it to. Frustrating was an understatement.

The resonating scrape of the grandfather clock entrance was more than enough of a cue for Dick to get back on his feet and throw his latex gloves in the trash. True to form, only moments after the blue gloves swooshed into the bin, Alfred came into view at the top of the main staircase.

“Master Dick…” he called, voice waning from exasperation, “the gala guests are expecting you now.”

“You mean Brucie’s gala guests are expecting me now,” he corrected gently, slicking back his hair with his hands in a way that signaled defeat. “I’m just the convenient stand in for all those sharks to circle around while I choke on appetizers.”

Tim’s head snapped up at once. “Appetizers?”

“Jesus, Replacement.” Jay laughed.

“What?”

“How selective is your hearing?”

“You mean: How selective is my commentary?”

“Either...? Both?”

“Ahem.” The sound of polite british cadence rose above the squabbling. “Master Timothy, your suit is pressed and is waiting for you in your room.” The unstated ‘NOW’ was still heard by the collective.

Tim, to his credit, only sighed a little as he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Dick begrudgingly took the lead; alibet, with a much more vocal complaint and a longing glance back to the computer running DNA analysis through Interpol. Jeez. When he was younger he used to LOVE galas. Being a Beta back then meant he was largely ignored and THAT allowed him all the freedom in the world to raid the snack table at an alarming rate. Growing boys gotta eat, after all.

NOW he was lucky if he could get within twenty feet of the snack table before someone snagged his arm and attempted to force an inane conversation upon him. It was mind-numbingly boring and not because he wasn’t interested in the business aspect of Wayne Enterprises (though let’s be real here, he wasn’t - that was all Timtim and his beautiful computer brain), but because the people were as dry as the sahara desert. And when they weren’t being dry enough to sap all the moisture out of the air, they were being overtly machiavellian. (Yes, he reads some times TOO, Jason) When business conversations weren’t thinly veiled traps of corporate espionage, they were pitfalls set by nosy people trying to get juicy information out of him so that they had something to titter on about over Sunday brunch.

It was as if they thought that prattling on long enough about market shares and hedge funds could get him to break and confess all his trade secrets or, at least, all the reasons Brucie Wayne kept pretty beta boys in his mansion. Because who in their right mind would adopt BETA children before having secured a proper heir, amiright? Feh. Snobs and sycophants, the whole lot of ‘em.

When Dick finally made it to the grand ballroom, he desperately tried to remember why the hell there was even an event being held there in the first place. Undoubtedly a charity of sorts but… OH! Were those cream puffs?! Dick's stomach was a force to be reckoned with as it caused him to float over to the desert table and imagine all the different tastes of sugary delights dancing on his tongue. That is, until a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder and ruined everything. He barely managed to NOT flinched under the weight of it.

“Is this Richard Grayson-Wayne before me?” boomed a resonating baritone, thick with accent and age.

Damnit. He only had 15 feet left to go, too. It was new record!

“That’s what they call me.” Dick slapped on his laid-back-Richie face and turned around with a blinding smile towards the owner of the meaty grip on his shoulder. 

Alpha. 6’10. 335lbs. More muscle than flab but age has made him soft. Probably in his early 50s with salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, rosey cheeks, faded tan and huge hands. 

Like... REALLY huge hands. 

Freakishly gorilla-like, one might say, and probably too big for any conventual off-the-rack jewelry. Which meant all the rings he seemed to have in excess must have been custom made and THAT meant he was either new money or… newer money. 

“And you are…?” Dick shifted under the weight of the foreigner's grip, his smile remaining firmly in place so as not to accidently insult the behemoth before him. 

“Nicola Alexandrov.”

Ah. That explained it. Nicola was a self-made billionaire philanthropist from Eastern Europe. New to Gotham and already making a name for himself by starting up and funding several successful charities in the city while, at the same time, heavily criticising the 1% who didn't do the same. His most notably work surrounded children, civil rights and safe houses for Omega.

In fact…

“Oh! Excuse my manners. It's a pleasure to finally meet our guest of honor, in person, Mr. Alexandrov.” 

Obviously his support of the Wayne foundation and like-minded charities did not go unnoticed by Bruce nor the company.

Nicola let robust laughter thunder out of him and before Dick could get another platitude out, he was being pulled into an all-encompassing hug. The very definition of a bear hug, Dick thought absently as he tried to figure out what to do with his hands. He was saved from having to make a decision when the bear himself pushed Dick away before yanking him back in to rapidly kiss either cheek.

It was so abrupt and unexpected that Dick just stood there and took it like an idiot. See, very few people in Dick Grayson's life ever hugged or kissed him FIRST and when they did, it typically wasn't a good thing. Bats and their rogues were just made backwards like that.

“Please,” the friendly giant boomed, “call me Nicola!”

And in that moment, Dick was struck by how strongly Nicola reminded him of a slightly younger Santa Clause. Seriously. Give the guy ten years and he’d be a dead ringer for old Saint Nick and the thought of that warmed Dick enough to cause a smaller, genuine, smile to trip out onto his face.

“Alright, Nicola.” He nodded politely, amused by the exaggerated gestures such a large man could make.

“Much better, yes?”  
“Yes.”

Nicola was practically beaming at him. “I wanted to thank you and your father for supporting my charity.”

“Ah,” Dick hid the wince, “Bruce isn’t my father but I’m grateful to him in the same way the Wayne foundation is grateful for charities like yours that are determined to help and uplift all Omega kind.” Nailed it.

Dick mentally patted himself on the back for not reacting to the slip up and smoothly steering the conversation away from himself and back to the foundation. Not that he hadn’t had a lot of practice over the years, it was just some days were harder than others.

“OH!” Nicola, to his credit, flustered immediately. “My apologies, I did not realize. You look so much like Big Wayne, I thought…”

Waving a hand in the air as if to banish the remains of Nicola’s sentence, Dick pressed on with his trademarked smile. No harm, no foul. And the less they talked about it, the less he had to think about his painfully complicated relationship with B. Honestly, that was a minefield in and of itself, with the dust having barely settled since the last time they argued.

“It’s a common mistake.” Or, at least, it used to be when he was younger. Considering how new Nicola was still to Gotham, Dick wasn’t surprised the gossip hadn’t caught up to him yet.

Nicola took the out for what it was and gracefully changed the subject. “Do you mind if we… how do you say? Talk shop?”

With literally ANYTHING being better than discussing his family situation, Dick eagerly nodded. “By all means.”

“Helping Hands wants to open New Facility on outskirt of city. Bigger place, more room to stretch legs. More space for family. We think: might be good place for maternity ward, like safe space for Omega to have baby.”

“A bigger facility shouldn’t be an issue if we’re building just outside the city limits. However, hosting a clinic of sorts will be a challenge. There are a lot of legal hoops you have to jump through in order to get approval for that sort of thing.”

“Which is exactly why we need the help of a bigger organization with experience in setting up such a large scale operation.”

The new voice tugged Dick’s attention to his left, and there he saw… well, if Nicola was Santa Clause then this guy would be Krampus. Tall as a skyscraper but spindly in stature, waxy pale skin, dark hair and darker piercing eyes that seem to look right through you. Dick knew better than to judge a book by its cover but this guy was setting off all the wrong warning bells in his mind by doing nothing more than standing near them. Everything from the way he hunched his shoulders to the way he gave them a crooked expression which felt more like a grimace than a smile.

“Yuri!” Nicola bubbled bright and oblivious, opening their space up by stepping to the side and allowing the spider to creep in. “Richard, this is partner: Yuri Popov. He has been in America for long time now and knows it like mother’s face!” Chris Cringle was laughing while enthusiastically patting his partner on the back.

His partner that looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here. 

“Yes,” the new comer spoke again, “a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne-Grayson.” Yuri extended a hand like a man about to get electrocuted and it made Dick want to shake it even less than before. Still, he had no reason to suspect Yuri of anything and polite society deemed it unforgivably rude to NOT shake the man’s hand so…

God… it was like gripping a moist glass of ice. Gross.

Dick forced a smile and withdrew his hand, casually wiping the claminess of it off on his pants without looking like he was doing just that. Whatever reason Yuri had to be nervous, it seeped out out of his palms like oil rising to the surface of water. 

He wished he hadn’t left the comfort of the batcave… and wasn’t THAT saying something? Glancing at the grand clock on the wall, Dick began his mental countdown of when he could leave, and it only helped a little. Two hours, twenty two minutes and thirty seconds…

“Richard, tell me more of these… ‘legal loops’ you spoke of.”

And it was going to be a long two hours, twenty two minutes and five seconds at that.

~*~

By the time Dick had managed to extract himself from the conversation with Santa Claus and Anti Claus, it was long past the mandatory two and a half hours he had been required to stay. With a flimsy excuse regarding the bathroom, Dick dodged further conversations by rushing his way out of the ballroom and sprinting for the stairs. He was absolutely NOT running away… just… running to future unknown engagements. Hopefully ones that did NOT involve the dry conversational pitfalls of Wayne foundation business.

That was all Tim’s department. Tim, the little weirdo, loved that kind of thing and would happily engage anyone dumb enough to start him down that road whether they meant to or not. More so if it looked like they were going to underestimate him and his brilliant expertise at running such a huge multi billion dollar company. Honestly, B could leave Tim the company in its entirety tomorrow and no one would be any the wiser. 

Dick… just wanted to suit up and go punch some bad guys in the face. A sentiment obviously shared by Jason who was already in full vigilante gear by the time Dick made it back down to the cave.

“That took you longer than expected.” 

Dick groaned as he pulled his tie loose and hung his tux jacket over a chair.

“B’s guest of honor found me.”

Jason, who had been fiddling with some part of his grappling hook, glanced up and trailed Dick with his eyes. It was a lot like being watched by a giant cat… and he strangely didn’t mind it. If anything, it caused the right corner of his lips to twitch upward as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

“And how did that go?” Oh he knew damn well that Jason didn’t care, but the offer of an ear to vent to was nice.

“On a scale of ‘Watching Paint Dry’ to ‘Flying with Superman’, I’d give it a solid: Lecture from Alfred about leaving bat equipment in the living room. Again.”

“That good, huh?” 

“Riveting.” Dick draped his shirt over his jacket and followed it with his belt. “You know me,” he dropped his pants to the floor carelessly, toeing his oxfords off a second later, “I get all hot and bothered when you start talking litigations and project developments.”

“Well…” Jason’s voice was suddenly a lot closer than before, low and pressed against the back of his neck in a way that sent an electric shiver rolling down his spine. “If that’s all it took to get you outta those superman panties, I’d have regaled you with tales of registering for a 501(c)(3) sooner.”

Holy proximity, Batman...

When had Jason gotten up and HOW had he gotten so CLOSE without Dick noticing first? It was like: one second Jay was at the other desk checking out his equipment and the next he was looming over Dick’s back, invading his personal space with the smell of fresh mint and aftershave. He could feel his heart beginning to race as he white knuckled the chair in front of him and refused to turn around. It wasn’t that he was afraid, it was that he was surprised and he KNEW that surprise would be written all over his face. He just didn’t want to give Jason the satisfaction of knowing he caught him off guard. 

Yeah…. That was it….

“Is that so?” Dick swallowed, carefully noting the way he could feel heat radiating off of the younger man like he could feel the way Jay’s breath curled against his bare skin. It was… strikingly amotory in a way he hadn’t been expecting. 

And then Jason took a step closer. 

“What can I say?” he rumbled quietly and Dick could feel THAT too. “I’m more of a Wonder Woman fan.”

And… he officially wasn’t even processing what Jason was saying anymore, too deep in his disorientation and too distracted by the enjoyable way Jay made sounds vibrate against his bare skin. He could practically hear the warning sirens screaming in his head (sounding suspiciously like Damian), but he chose to ignore them in favor of memorizing the way Jason’s face brushed against the side of his neck. The light scratch of stumble ghosting over sensitive skin, the faintest brush of lips trailing over where his scent gland should have been, the sharp sting of teeth against that same spot…. Wait.

“Jason…” He sucked in a breath and his successor growled, actually GROWLED, back at him with teeth threatening to break skin.

“Jay…” he tried again, voice quietly shaking from the over stimulation of sensory input. This was so much more than familia scenting...

“You smell like another Alpha.” the words were garbled against his skin, half indistinguishable from the earlier growl.

Scent blind as he may be, Dick wasn't stupid.

“You’re going into a rut, Little Wing.” He swallowed, really hoping his guess was right on the money because otherwise… this was something else entirely.

The responding silence stretched out between them like a lazy cat in the sun, neither of them moving as time sluggishly ticked by without notice. Then, gradually, the pressure on Dick’s neck eased as Jason unlocked his jaw and allowed the bruised, but unbroken, skin to scrape by his teeth. 

“Fuck.” Jason was panting like he had just sprinted across Gotham. “Fuck, Dickie I’m sorry I-- I didn’t… I shouldn’t have--”

“It’s okay!” The words rushed out of Dick before he realized he was saying them and, to his surprise, he meant it. Which, okay, that was something he was going to have to analyze under a microscope later when he was sure Jason wasn’t about to plunge into catastrophic meltdown given the way he was breathing.

“I have to go.” Jay was backing away from him like he was some kind of explosive that just ran out of a fuse.

“Little Wing,” Dick turned quickly but his successor was already ten steps ahead, jumping on a bike and throwing it into gear faster than he’d ever seen the man do it before. And he’d seen Jason the moment the police announced an Arkham breakout with Joker in the lead.

“Jason!” He called louder but the motorcycle drowned him out and in the blink of an eye, Jason was squealing tires on the pavement and taillights in the distance. 

Left in the aftermath of what just happened, Dick found himself holding the side of his neck and slowly sinking down to the stone floor of the batcave in profound silence. 

Jason had just… bit him.

Not hard enough to break skin but hard enough that the intention to claim and bond was quite clear. Not that he COULD bond with Dick, given that Dick was a Beta, but still… the intention was more than enough to pull the rug out from under him, leaving him to analyze and re-analyze every interaction they had ever had. To which he found that the end result was akin to a neon sign the size of Wayne Tower that simply said, “Duh.”

Ah, fudgecake.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta reader Kookybun who makes this story possible by being the best cheerleader a writer could ask for.
> 
> And to you readers. Thank you for sticking with me this long.


	8. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pandora's box is officially open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. I'm total garbage for making you all wait this long -sorry about that!
> 
> I'll have questions at the end of this chapter so stick around and let me get your opinion? Thanks!
> 
> Mind the warnings even if this chapter is pretty mild in comparison.

Previously:  
Bruce is in space. Dick takes this opportunity to get all the robins in one house for bonding and case work. Tim finds a chemical connection between the Beta victims and the mass Omega graves. Jason and Dick collect unique black and gold cigarettes with DNA on them but, unfortunately, said DNA doesn’t match anything in any criminal (or otherwise) database. Dick attends a charity gala in Bruce’s sted and meets the jolly ol’ Saint Nicola (read: the guest of honor) and his rather dubious assistant. After leaving the gala and meeting Jason in the cave, one thing leads to another and Jason bites Dick in a very “mate claiming” way. 

 

Now:

Dick stared into the mirror and the mirror unerringly stared back.

His long fingers traced over the formally latent patterns of violent purple and sickly yellow, following the crescent shape reminder of where Jason had made his intentions known yesterday. The thrill of a shiver rolled down his spine and Dick covered the mark with his left hand, feeling the heat of inflammation and the racing of his heart under his palm.

This was a game changer. 

Everything Dick THOUGHT he knew about his little pack had been ripped out from under him and turned on its head- shaken up like an ugly snowglobe out of season. To say he was a little rattled was the understatement of the year.

After Jason had fled the cave like his ass was on fire, Dick suited up faster than what was avisable and promptly gave chase. He KNEW it was a fruitless endeavor but he never claimed to be anything other than an optimist. Of course, when the inevitable came to pass and no kevlar clad hide nor shiny red helmet of the Hood popped back up in Gotham, Dick gave it a rest. He knew better than anyone that when a bat didn’t want to be found, they wouldn’t be found- simple as that. So, he changed his plans from searching for Jay to searching for crimes in progress and reluctantly went about his patrol as usual. 

But, seeing as how the universe was not on Dick’s side that night, it was auspiciously quiet in the city and he found nothing to distract himself from the throbbing irritation hidden under the collar of his uniform. It itched and burned and was reason enough to call it an early night so that he could slap some numbing bruise cream on the damn thing and go to bed. 

Of course that meant that Dick spent the rest of his evening staring at the ceiling from the cradle of his sinfully comfortable bed while sleep evaded him like its name was Jason. And when the sun peeked in through his bedroom window that morning, it found Richard Grayson already up and dressed in his Alfred-pressed-police-uniform. If he was going to be up anyway, he decided that he might as well make use of his time and get to his day job early.

So, two Tim-sized cups of coffee and a short ride later, Officer Grayson was strolling into the station like he wasn’t five hours early to his shift and running on zero sleep. The fact that no one even batted an eyelash at him and his state-sized eye bags spoke volumes.

~*~

When the hour hand finally managed to drag itself to the bottom half of the clock, Dick’s shift ended (and not a moment too soon). The coffee had worn off ages ago and the subsequence cups that followed only succeeded in making him feel nauseous rather than awake- the result of which caused the remainder of his shift to go by like an uphill battle in waist high mud. 

Fortunately, the shock of noise and vibration coming from the grumpy rumble of his aging street bike was enough to perk him up and ease him into a second wind. A second wind which... carried him all the way to Gotham docks instead of to the calm harbor of Wayne manor where any OTHER sane person might have gone. It would be redundant to point out that Dick was in short supply of rational thinking when he was running on fumes, but here we are.

After finding a good spot to inconspicuously stash his bike, his sleep-deprived feet carried him like a zombie to the same spot where he and Jason had previously discovered their dna evidence. The puzzle of it all had his bat brain working overtime, trying desperately to fit the pieces together and look for clues he hadn’t already found. When nothing immediately jumped out at him, Dick scowled at the empty space and mentally accused it of mocking him. The cotton balls in his brain weren’t helping matters either.

He rubbed at his face then, groaning and (for the millionth time that day) placing his left hand over his neck. He was distracted and he knew it. If it wasn’t the siren’s song of sleep beckoning him over, it was the persistent burn of last night’s teeth-shaped-epiphany. 

Which WASN’T a mating bite.

Right?

Jay hadn’t broken the skin so it COULDN’T be. No blood, no bond. Not that a Beta COULD bond even if... an Alpha could. 

God, if Jay had managed to sink his teeth in and draw first blood, he would have tethered himself to Dick in a way that was frighteningly permanent for such a momentary lapse in judgement. And that’s what it was: A lapse in judgement as a result of confused instincts from an impending rut. It meant nothing. It WAS nothing.

...right? 

But then again, what if...

Dick shook his head violently, desperately attempting to dislodge that same damn cognitive loop which had kept him up all night. He was already nauseated from the caffeine overload and the sudden bout of butterflies in his stomach was unequivocally NOT helping. 

And that’s when the quick flicker of something through a hole in the sheet metal wall caught his attention.

All at once, he was plunged back into a Nightwing lense of focus. From there, he decided to trace the movement he had spotted. Even if he was off duty (in every sense of the word) he was still fully dressed in his blue bag and the weight of his gold shield gave him gave him a sense of investigative urgency. So, pulling out the maglight he had brought with him, Nightwing-parading-as-Officer-Grayson made his way past the broken-lock-door and into the eerie bowels of the foreboding warehouse. 

Honestly? It was like walking right into a horror movie cliche and Dick didn’t like it. Not .one. little. bit. 

He especially didn’t like the way a steel door in the darkest corner of the building was casually creaking open by itself. 

SERIOUSLY?! There was a reason he didn’t watch horror movies by himself, JASON.

Taking a moment to steady his nerves and push through the exhaustion-induced-hysteria threatening to take over, Dick moved forward and silently hoped he wouldn’t regret leaving his escrima sticks strapped to the bike outside. 

~*~

Jason scowled at the mirror and the mirror scowled back.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” 

While swearing at his reflection wasn’t in the least bit useful, it WAS cathartic and Jay was ALL about that catharsis. More so if it helped stop the internalized anger from boiling over and making a solid fucking mess of all his interpersonal relationships. DAMNIT. Jason splashed water on his face instead of punching the mirror and called it progress. Alfred would be proud. Dick would be…

Fuck!

Dick wouldn’t be ANYTHING because, after last night, Dick wouldn’t want to ever be around him again. And, tragically, Jason couldn’t blame him. He’d really fucked up this time and there was no going back- no way to smooth over the royal mess he had made in one stupid, rage-induced, moment.

Jay sank into a squat, hands clinging to the edge of his sanity which, coincidentally, looked like the bathroom sink. 

Breathe, dumbass, breathe.

Mentally berating himself wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but the rising panic attack wouldn’t get him there even faster. He needed to slow down his heart rate, slow down his breathing, slow down his… thoughts. 

Think rationally.

He needed to get out of town.

RATIONALLY.

He needed to talk to Dick.

Better.

He needed to APOLOGIZE to Dick.

Getting there…

He needed to--

A series of loud bangs at his front door ripped through his process and scattered the pieces of progress all over the floor. 

 

\--Answer the door.

Jay inwardly groaned, climbed to his feet and clambered towards the front door of his squat house. The fact that ANYONE was knocking meant trouble- it was only the shape of that trouble that he had to guess at. 

After peeking through the blinds of his front window, Jason confirmed that form of his trouble looked an awful lot like a bat brat. Fantastic. At least it wasn’t Damian here to kill him. 

“What do you want, Replacement?” Tim wouldn’t have brought the demon child.

“I need your help.” 

That… didn’t sound good. Jay swore in three different languages under his breath. Having Red Robin perched apprehensively on his stoop meant the safe house was now garbage and by the time he finished unlocking the front door, Jason had already ran through a deconstruction list twice. Having to find a new place every two weeks after trashing the former was starting to get REAL annoying. 

“What,” Jason barked, ripping open the front door with all the aggression he WASN’T taking out on Red Robin’s face. See? Progress, Alfred.

“It’s... “ The kid looked downright nervous as his gaze shot around, “Blue bird.” 

And that stole the wind right out of his fucking sails. Great. No doubt Tim was here to lecture him and tell him to leave before the Demon Spawn or Daddy Bats decided to make their move. Which, okay, he GOT IT but that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

“Look, if this is about what happened in the cave…” He began but immediately stopped when Red Robin reflexively jerked his head up in surprise.

“What... happened in the cave last night?” 

Oh…. fuck. Apparently Dick HADN’T said anything to anyone about the bite. Welp. Two points for Dickie and the sweet sound of his mutual silence. Negative two points for Jason and his inability to not shoot himself in the fucking foot at every given opportunity.

“Why are you here?” The evasion was as clear as the fucking sky in July but Tim seemed less bothered by that than he should have been. Which meant something else was up.

The kid pushed his way into the derelict flat, treating Jason like he wasn’t purposefully blocking the entrance for a damn reason. Bats. Jay petulantly slammed the door closed after Tim and crossed his arms over the expanse of his chest in a clear sign of irritation. He was gearing up for a “Don’t come knocking on my door every time something goes wrong…” rant, when all of the sudden the third Robin whirled around and hit Jason with a panicked expression.

“He’s missing.”

“What?”

Tim opened his mouth, choked on seemingly nothing then cleared his throat and started again in a whisper. 

“Dick’s missing.”

And the world fell out from under Jason’s feet.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... So... Don't hate me for this chapter. I'm already part way through the next one, I swear!
> 
> So here is my question to all of you:
> 
> Would you prefer shorter chapters with more updates or longer chapters with fewer updates?
> 
> My chapters are running between 7 and 15 pages each with the average being around 10. I can cut these chapters down to just a couple of pages at a time and post them frequently, however, I fear that would get irritating because I cannot commit to a posting schedule.
> 
> My real job is just too unpredictable for that :/
> 
> Anyway, it's up to you guys so let me know what you think?
> 
> <3


	9. The Earth and his Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Dick Grayson begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I saw that it was Omega Dick week, I figured I'd post a new chapter sooner than I had originally intended to. Enjoy?
> 
> Please please mind the tags. We're really starting to go down the rabbit hole now and shit will get a lot darker before it gets better.
> 
> Big thank you to my amazing Beta Reader: Kookybun, who personally cheers me on, fixes my grammar and helps me work through this heavy and tangled web I'm weaving.

***CONTENT WARNING***READ THE TAGS FIRST*** 

Previously: 

Dick goes mysteriously missing and Tim runs to Jason for help because Bruce is in deep space and no one else has any idea where the Blue Bird might have gone.

 

Now:

He couldn’t breathe. 

All around him the golden flames were steadily creeping in, eating the remaining space inch by suffocating inch. They licked up his legs and curled around his torso, squeezing until he realized that the tightness in his chest wasn’t from the smoke but a giant snake, the color of gold. One that coiled around him tighter and tighter with each turn and bound him in place, squeezing the air out of his lungs until it was ready to strike. And it did. The snake lunged at him and he jerked away, violently twisting himself out of the path of those enlarged fangs, fangs which thankfully missed him and sunk through the flesh of the snake’s own tail.

And just as he started to feel relief wash over him, two hands of Midas shot out of the flames like disembodied creatures and grabbed. They shook him, they shook each other, they shook the world, and the whole world trembled in response.

He stumbled back from the force of it, tripping up and falling through the endless flames until he hit a literal rock bottom.

The hard earth was cold and unforgiving but it paled in comparison to all the strange faces peering down at him from above. He was sure he didn’t know any of them. Complete strangers just watching him from up above when the first shovel full of dirt hit his chest.

They were burying him. Again.

NO!

Jason tried to stand, tried to crawl out of the grave, but his body wouldn’t move. All could do was lay there and stare up at the night sky as the dirt fell like rain all around him. He was trembling with the effort it took to try and move, hyperventilating as the dirt started to fill his mouth.

Not again.

Please… not again…

“Jason.”

Who…

“Jason.” 

He wasn’t alone in his grave. There were others lying next to him, around him… under him... 

They were so still. So rigid and silent- all of them, except one. 

With all the strength he could muster, Jason jerkily tilted his head in the direction of the voice and locked eyes with a girl the color of paper. She was pressed against his side, staring at him blankly with eyes that must have once been a rich mahogany but were now more of a suggestion than a fact. Flaxen blond hair matted with blood and grime lay like straw in a stable, cruelly framing the frozen horror on her broken face.

“Jason.” The corpse was talking without moving her dislocated jaw. “JASON! WAKE UP…!” She sounded a lot like Tim.

Until she started screaming. 

Screaming and screaming until his eyes snapped open and he realized that the only person screaming was him.

Tim was hovering, hand pulled back as if he was afraid that Jason would break it if he got any closer (he might have). The kid wasn’t wearing his uniform or his mask so it was easy to make out the traces of fear in his eyes, right above the deep bruising circles of sleep deprivation that were making themselves well known. 

“You were screaming.” Replacement let his hand hesitantly fall onto his lap, lips tugging into a deep set frown. 

It had been two days. 

Two days since Red Robin rushed into his apartment to tell him that Dick Grayson (pointedly NOT Nightwing) was missing. The GCPD had called when he didn't show up for his second shift and wasn’t answering any of their phone calls. They called again when someone found his bike by the docks but no Officer Grayson to go with it.

O’s surveillance showed him leaving the manor but NONE of their surveillance ever showed him returning to ANY of their locations.

He was just… gone.

Something Tim would normally have said was impossible when you were under O’s surveillance, but he knew better than to underestimate the first Robin. If Dick wanted to vanish, he would. The problem was, Tim was almost certain that Dick hadn’t wanted to vanish. 

And that’s when he suited up and practically broke down Jason’s door looking for answers.

It had taken Jay three minutes to properly digest the information that Tim had thrown at him and three more to suit up, gear up and get his ass out the door with a list of safehouses and apartments to check for Dick in. Tim was on his heels and talking a mile a minute, probably going over his contingency plans for contingency plans, but all Jason heard was the static ringing of blood rushing past his ears. 

Either the kid noticed or didn’t care because at some point he gave up trying and just followed Jay down to the street to where his bike was parked.

“I’ll take North and East Gotham, you and baby bat cover everything else and we’ll rendezvous at 0400 in the cave.” His modulated voice snapped across the space between them and Tim barely nodded his understanding before he was gone. 

Many many hours later, Jason found himself being startled awake after having one hell of a nightmare in Batman’s too-large and too-expensive leather chair. Dna analysis and criminal profiles were flashing across the batcomputer at lightning speed, searching for any clue as to what might have happened to Dick. Or, WHO might have happened to Dick, for that matter.

If it had been Nightwing, the list might have been more comprehensible. While there were dozens of villains who would have gladly stolen Batman’s golden child away, every last one of them would have bragged about it by now. 

The key problem lay in the fact that it wasn’t Nightwing who had gone missing. It was Officer Grayson, and no one was bragging about kidnapping Officer Grayson. No ransom. No warning. Not a hint of a whisper. Not a single clue. Just ...Nothing. 

Not even ONE of Jason’s underground networks had heard ANYTHING about ANYONE taking a Beta cop in Gotham or her surrounding areas, and that was tying Jay’s stomach into knots.

Everyone knew Dick Grayson was Gotham’s darling. Everyone knew that stupid pretty face with that stupid charming smile and that really really stupid heart of gold he wore on his sleeve. Having been Bruce Wayne’s ward (and eventually his legally adopted son) for so many years meant that his face was everywhere. He was constantly being plastered on every magazine and newspaper Gotham had to offer so they could outlandishly brag or gossip about their little prince-turned-cop. 

But Dick was Robin, and then he was Nightwing. Born from grief, shaped by Batman and sharpened by The League and the Titans and every other mentor who deemed him worthy of their knowledge. And that was a lot. 

So they shouldn’t have had to worry about him.

And yet... the silence remained. 

“I’m going upstairs.” 

Forcing his body to rise out of the unfairly comfortable computer chair was a crime against nature. One that his back and neck would thank him for later (but whatever). TimTim waved him off with the hand that wasn’t holding a litre of coffee, refusing to look away from the screen in front of him (again). Someday SOMEONE was going to have to sit the baby bats down and have a long talk about the perils of caffeine addiction. And by SOMEONE he meant anyone who wasn’t HIM, because Jay wasn’t in to that whole pot-kettle-black thing.

Lumbering up to the second (third?) floor of the mansion, step-by-fucking-step, was its own private hell. You’d think they would have installed an elevator at some point but noooo. Elevators were for lazy plebs like Jason, apparently.

His feet came to a gradual halt in front of a door that was most definitely not his. Not that he had a room (if you asked him and NO ONE else), but if he did… it certainly wasn’t this one. This was…

Jason let out a deep sigh and pushed the door open anyway. Dick wasn’t here and if anyone asked, he was just looking for clues. Clues lost in the miles of egyptian cotton covering the bed which was too plush to be real. Normally, Jay preferred his beds like he preferred his partners but every once in a while… 

A deeply felt groan escaped his tired body and he sank into the private heaven of decadent bedding wrapped in the concentrated scent of Dick Grayson.

Being a Beta meant that Grayson’s natural scent was faint to begin with but when he wore clothing and cologne and all those other artificial fragrances on top of it, it was nearly impossible to detect. A fact Jay knew from the moment he tried on Dick’s colors and was immediately surrounded by the unadulterated scent of Ozone. 

At first, he couldn’t place the smell or where it was coming from. He wasn’t sure if it was the air around him or the soap that Dick used (or whatever), but the longer he spent around the older bird, the more he was able to pick up on the delicate traces of his natural scent. 

Though, truth be told, "scent" was the wrong word for it. It was less a smell and more like that electric feeling in the atmosphere right before a lightning storm with the heady scent of wind and rain behind it- he was addicted.

He had tried to ask Alfred about it once but the old Beta seemed completely puzzled by the questions. When he switched up tactics to ask Bruce… well, Bruce gave him a weird look and bluntly stated that Betas do not have a particular smell because they didn’t possess a functioning scent gland. 

Well, fuck you too Bruce. 

For once, The Bat was SUPER wrong.

Jay was never sure WHY he could smell the older Robin when the others could not, but he didn’t care as long as he could CONTINUE to smell him whenever he wanted. It was like he had a piece of Dick Grayson that NO ONE else did (not even Dick Grayson), and he was going to greedily bury that treasure deep inside himself where no one else would ever find it. Hell, he took that knowledge to the grave with him and when he was resurrected, he continued to keep that information exactly where he had previously placed it. 

It wasn’t until after he had been brought back and forced to go through his first full rut that Jason found a scent he liked even MORE than just Dick's. 

If Dick was the rain and the sky then Jason was the spice rich earth and the blending of those unique fragrances smelled like home. Not any home that Jay was familiar with per say but, rather, the romanticized idea of home he had always been looking for. Dick's scent entwined with his represented home and he needed it like he needed air.

Aaaaand that was about the time teenage Jason realized just how truly fucked he was.

Like: up shit’s creek without a paddal, kind of fucked. Because life just couldn’t be easy for once, could it?

Dick treated him like a KID. Worse yet, Dick treated him like a kid BROTHER that he had to look after constantly and if Jason couldn’t derail that mental image of himself asap, he stood NO chance of ever getting anywhere beyond platonic with the golden boy. 

Jason let out a heartfelt groan against the pillow his face was currently being smushed into, soaking in Dick’s scent like it was a life preserver in the ocean of fucked up-ness that was his life.

Where had Dick gone?

The pink elephant in the room was glaring at him and Jason didn’t have the heart to keep ignoring it. 

What if…

What if THEY took Dick?

The same nebulous "they" that left so many desecrated bodies in their wake. Would they do to Dick what they did to all those other Betas? Would they experiment on him right away or would they save him for later? 

Jason's fist slammed into the headboard with all the power of his frustrations backing it. Who was stupid enough to grab such a high profile Beta? 

Stupid or obsessed. God, he hoped for the former...

A million different mentally traumatizing images flooded his brain and he had to clench his jaw and breathe through his teeth to stop himself from throwing up. He couldn’t even humor the idea of what they could be doing to Goldie before he felt violently ill. He had seen the autopsy reports… he had seen the pictures…

No one deserved that kind of fate, least of all Dick.

Jay rubbed his face into the pillow some more, marking it and mingling their scents together like he had any right to do so. Dick could kill him later when he got back, but for now… this was what he needed and he wasn’t about to stop himself from taking it.

~*~

“Anything?”

Fuck. The kid sounded so hopeful even the demon spawn was looking over with that same light in his eyes…

“Nothing.” Jason spat the word out like poison. “I double checked every location he owns and I found exactly squat. You?”

Tim was sinking further into the computer chair like he was trying to will himself through it. “Nothing new.”

The distinct “Tcht” from Damian’s corner was all Jason needed to hear to know they were all in exactly the same place they were in yesterday. He scowled at that. People don’t just “vanish.” Skilled vigilantes don’t just… disappear without a trace. Especially ones trained by The Bat. So what the hell was going on? Where WAS he?!

“I’m going to check the last site again.” 

“We’ve already checked it three--”

“I SAID-” Jason was quick to cut Tim off. “-I’m going to go check it, AGAIN. It’s the last known location so there has to be something we missed.”

The way his replacement’s spine straightened said a lot about how insulting the words had been taken. Whatever. The kid could rant about all the way to the warehouse if it meant he was coming to help.

And, yeah, they HAD already gone over the location with a fine tooth comb, but that didn’t mean they were perfect. That didn’t mean they didn’t miss something or… or…

Or Jason was out of ideas and he had to do SOMETHING or else he was going to start punching holes in walls. Or bad guy’s faces. Or both. Both sounded good.

"We should probably check the surrounding fields too."

And wasn't that a fine point? 

Throwing on the Red Hood helmet once more, he grunted his agreement while straddling his bike and secretly smiling when he heard the sound of two more motors rumble to life shortly thereafter. 

They were GOING to find him. 

They had to. 

Because there just wasn’t another option.

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for some good news!
> 
> The next chapter is written and finished already.
> 
> The bad news: it's the darkest chapter I've written so far.
> 
> So...... Take that how you will lol.


	10. Help Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything takes a much darker turn and time is running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** WARNING** FUCKING WARNING**
> 
> Read the tags before you continue! This chapter requires flashlights. Maglites.

“It’s like I said… nothing.”

At least Tim had the good sense to not comment back, averting his attention to the device lighting up on his wrist (Jason called it a fitbit. It wasn’t a fitbit, but it annoyed Tim when he called it that so...). Damian, on the other hand, lacked any and ALL “good sense” and probably would have said something if he wasn’t busy kicking the ground out of spite (and out of earshot). They were more alike than he cared to admit but he wasn’t about to go there so, instead, he kicked an empty tin can into the night air like the thing had personally offended him with a crowbar. Fucking empty field. Fucking empty warehouse. Fucking… litter!

Wait…

“Goddamnit,” He hissed under his breath as he stomped after the can, because SOMEONE had to help pick up this dumpster fire of a city. Or, at the least, not make it WORSE.

Sometimes he really hated having a fucking conscience. Why couldn’t that part of him stay dead like all the other missing pieces? If it weren’t for the guilt weighting him down, Jay wouldn’t be out in a stupid barren field in the middle of the fucking night looking for a stupid fucking tin he had stupidly fuckingly kicked out there. BECAUSE LITTER.

They had gone over this area again and again, and AGAIN found nothing. He would have pulled out his hair if he hadn’t been wearing an all-encompassing helmet at the time. 

Jay grumbled out his bitter feelings the moment he finally caught up to where the rusted-out tin had landed. Stupid can just SAT there like some fucking… inanimate… THING…(!!!).

Wooooowohwooow his brain was oatmeal. 

After running a gloved hand down over the space where his face should have been (like that was going to help), he groaned to himself and bent down to pick up the piece of offending litter before going in search of a trash can. Surely this dump had a… dump?

Jfc.

Get. More. Sleep. Jason.

Trespassing in to the empty warehouse like he owned the damn place, Jay spotted what looked like a trash bin in the far corner and instantly deflated over how fucking far away it was. Goddamnit. Murphy's law and all of its shitty bylaws could kiss his lilly white ass. 

Summoning up the willpower to continue (because WWWWD*), Jason dragged his sore and bramble covered legs across the stretch of abandoned warehouse in order to reach the trash bin. All the while convincing himself that stuffing Tim into a barrel and rolling him down a long and bumpy hill WASN’T the best idea he’d had in ages. Nutella in his protein shake was.

And, full disclosure, Tim’s suggestion hadn’t actually been a bad one. Jason was just aggravated that their collective search came up with exactly... nothing -and that made them 0 for 0. Sparing the area a cursory glance, he lined himself up, took aim and shot the can like a basketball, right into the metal-barrel-turned-trash-can-and-temporary-basketball-hoop.

“He shoots…!” Jay waited another second for the final “clang” of tin hitting the bottom of the barrel before he cheered. “He scores!!!”

The imaginary crowd would have been cheering and singing his game-winning-praises if the Bat part of his brain hadn't noticed a strange echo at the exact same moment as his resounding victory. What the...? While tin cans did indeed make a lot of noise, there was something about THIS can hitting the bottom of the barrel that sounded strangely hollow.

Curious and curiouser. 

He stepped up to the drum barrel and peered inside, not sure what to expect at this point. And, at first blush, there didn’t SEEM to be anything out of the ordinary, but then again… He kicked the metal container over for good measure. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” Jay placed his hands on his hips and stared at the circular trapdoor which had been hiding under the metal barrel as inconspicuous as possible.

“Found something in the southwest corner of the warehouse. I’m checking it out.”

“What--” Tim and Damian had both started to radio back when Jason put the kids on mute so he could examine the door in silence. They weren’t that far away, they could shout if they needed him. In the meantime...

No trip wires. Not spring loaded traps. Just some new hinges and a new-ish looking padlock on what appeared to be a manhole cover. 

….Interesting. 

Well, if THAT wasn’t an invitation, Jason didn’t know what was. 

“Don’t mind if I do!” He chirped. 

Pulling out a high-powered hand-held laser (thank you Lucius Fox), he proceeded to cut away at the decently sized padlock. Poor thing just didn’t stand a chance against bat-regulated equipment, the raw power of which was equal parts awesome and terrifying. Jason loved it.

Seconds later he was tossing the broken lock aside and pulling the manhole cover off of what appeared to be the opening to a pit. A dark ass pit at that. Kneeling down to get a better look, Jason’s helmet night vision flickered on and-

“Oh what the fuck…!” He jerked back hard enough to fall flat on his ass.  
Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t the pale face of death staring right back at him. Jay collected himself enough to scramble back over to the opening and… yep. That was a dead girl looking right at him from the bottom of the pit. That… couldn’t be good. Now, more than ever, he was grateful for the military-grade filter in his mask. 

To get a better look at the body below, Jason leaned in to the gaping maw of the pit and that’s when he noticed that the victim either had three hands or there was more than one body in that hole. Fuck. This was going to give him even more nightmares than usual because he knew, JUST KNEW, what he was going to find if he went down into that pit. And boy did he NOT want to go down into that pit.

Not for all the-

Jason froze. 

Wait...

The hairs on the back of his neck picked up as a familiar chill of fear ran down his spine the moment he caught sight of a patch of inky black hair. His insides turned to ice as an unwanted thought whispered an unwanted possibility to him.

No...

Jason lurched into sudden motion, rapidly securing the end of his grappling hook to a nearby i-beam before grabbing his maglite and preparing himself to descend.

No, no, no….

“Red Hood?” Tim’s voice bounced off the adjacent wall but he was now too singularly focused on getting himself down into the rancid pit to respond. 

No, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO…

The acidic beam of his flashlight caught on marbled bloated curves and the sharp unnatural angles of limbs all tangled together in one motionless gnarled mess. He dry heaved before he even reached the bottom, dread twisting his stomach into painful knots as adrenaline surged through his veins at lightning speed. The mantra of “NO!” howling in the background of his mind like a white noise blocking out all other sounds and distractions.

Face after face in a sea of lifeless faces were all contorted and piled on top of one another, each seeping into the various stages of putrefaction and death. Twenty.. Maybe more… and somewhere in that pile….

Jason’s brain shut down and his body went into autopilot, immediately prompting his search for the one face he hoped he wouldn’t find in that mass grave. 

Please… 

He couldn’t hear anything past the rushing blood in his head. 

Please... not him. 

His heart was hammering against his ribcage and the world tilted into shades of green.

ANYONE BUT HIM! 

And he couldn’t breathe. It was like his nightmare all over again but this time it was real and HE COULDN’T BREATHE. The horrific possibility of personal loss fueled Jason into desperate action, frantically pulling at stiff arms to get to other pale faces so he could check each one. Not him. Not him. Not HIM. 

He scrambled and fell over and around the bodies, shining the single beam of light into all of the empty eyes staring back at him just to make sure that none of them were--

“JASON!” Tim materialized out of the dark, wrapping arms around his chest to pull him away from his frantic search.

“NO!” His strangled scream bounced around the room, vibrating back to them a second later at full force.

Was that really him? He knew he was making noise because the echo of it was humming in his helmet and cracking the modulated voice over and over again, but he didn’t recognize the cadence of such a sound.

He must have caught Tim with his elbow at some point because the kid went down to the dirt and took Jason with him. He was impossible to get away from, using all of his body like Dick had taught them to, keeping Jason down and secure. If he had half a working brain cell, he might have been able to break the hold and get away. But, as it stood, the only thing he could think to do was reach for the lost Omegas like they would help. Like HE could help.

“GET IT TOGETHER TODD, RICHARD’S NOT IN THERE!” 

Damian’s voice bellowed like a younger version of his father’s, the sharp slap of which cut right through Jason’s panic attack. And he stilled at that, breathing in the foul air through the filter in his helmet before any sense of rationality kicked in. It took him a few more seconds before the green fog that had flooded his vision rescinded and he could see the glowing electronic words scrolling past his field of view.

All victims in that room were identified as Omega females. 

Dick wasn’t there.

Tim had pulled him to his feet and out of the pit before he had completely recovered. The result of which ended in him throwing off his helmet, gulping in deep lungfuls of fresh air and promptly vomiting.

Damian danced away from him to avoid the sick but Tim remained present, just hovering in his peripheral with outstretched arms like he was ready to catch Jason, should he fall. While Jay appreciated the sentiment, he was equally grateful that Tim didn’t actually try and touch him because the action would have surely been met with unprovoked violence. And Tim didn’t deserve that right now. Not for this. Not for pulling his stupid fucking ass out of the REALLY stupid situation he had-

“I’m going to be sick.” The words gurgled out of him before he was back to dry heaving.

Neither of his successors moved this time, and after a few more gut-wrenching seconds crawled by, Jason finally managed to stop the heaving and unsteadily get to his feet. Wow. He was a fucking mess. 

“I need to call this in. Can Damian drive you back to the cave?” Tim sounded far away.

“I can drive myself.”

Red Robin crossed his arms over his chest and puffed up like a cat rubbed backwards. Jay might have thought it was cute if he were in the right headspace to think ANYTHING was cute at that moment.

“You’re going into shock.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that Jay didn’t even question the truth of it before he was moving on. “The last thing we need is one more absent cape. With N being MIA, we cannot afford to have you down for the count too.”

Jason eyed him. Took in the spread out stance of authority, the grim set of determination in his jaw and the overwhelming sense of inflexibility before he turned away and gave one sharp nod. Gods, it physically PAINED him to admit TimTim was right -even if he damn well KNEW the replacement was the brightest Bradie in the bunch. Fucking hell. 

When had his life become so backwards that he was taking directions from Timbo in order to follow his replacement’s replacement back to the cave (of all places)? He could have sworn that just two days ago the world was exactly as it should have been. Jay haphazardly bent down and snatched up his helmet, pausing for a second to let the vertigo pass before continuing on towards Damian’s bike. He felt too raw and burnt out to do anything else.

By the time he climbed onto the back of the demon brat’s bike, the reality of what he had just been doing smashed into him like an avalanche of abhorrence. Did that really just happen? Did he really just totally lose control of himself like that? He hadn’t had a pit-tinged panic attack of that scale in years.

In fact, that kind of thing hadn’t happened since… well… since he was dumped into a Lazarus pit and forced to suffer the consequences.

But this was different than before. This time he wasn’t confused or afraid for himself, he was afraid for Dick. Afraid of what might have happened… of what might STILL be happening. Just because the Blue Bird wasn’t in THAT grave didn’t mean--

Jason shook his head and ignored the slight glance Damian gave him over his right shoulder. No. He couldn’t even begin to go down that path or else he’d lose it worse than before and, right now, he NEEDED to keep it together for Dick's sake. For HIS sake, because they were back to fucking square one and wasn't THAT a shit-tastic revelation?

God….

They needed more help.

Tbc

 

*WWWWD - What Would Wonder Woman Do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me @__@! The next chapter is written and it's a lot lighter than this one. I swear.
> 
> Big thank you to Dabiishi here on AO3 for being my amazing Bea-ta reader and mind sorter lol


	11. Who ya gonna call?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you MEAN no one is available to help? That can't be right...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SumOfAllThings... This one is for you. Now get back to writing before I defenestrate something.
> 
> Warnings.... Loads of F-bombs and other swearing. You know, the usual Jason-is-pissy POV stuff lol.
> 
> Side notes: if you have any prompts or little requests of things you want to see happen, let me know? I have a storyline foundation but a lot of open space for adding in requests and occasionally I NEED them as inspiration to keep writing.

Twelve hours. 

It had taken Jason twelve long fucking hours to sort out his own shit enough to be of any use. Not that he hadn’t TRIED to help out before that point, it was just that he was met with a collective and resounding “NO” every time he tried. This left him seething and THAT left him banned from the cave until further notice.

He knew they were right in that decision but he wasn’t quite adult enough to admit it openly or, you know, NOT knock over Tim’s full coffee cup on his way out of the cave. Because being childish and bitter was easier than being gobsmacked and traumatized. 

So, after eight hours of sleep (of which he suspects Al might have had something to do with) and a long hot shower where he scrubbed his skin raw, Jason was feeling a little more sane. The meditation Alfred forced him to do in the garden after breakfast (and a proper lecture about support structures) had helped as well. Not that he was going to mention that last part to anyone who hadn’t already been there but whatever. 

Alfred was a godsend and everyone knew it.

In the end, it took every second of those 12 hours to clear his mind and get his head back into the game- back to where he had been before Dick had gone missing. Which is why the conversation he was currently having with Tim was such a fucking headache that he could barely contain himself.

“You’re fucking joking.”

Jason glared at the back of Tim’s head, half willing it to light on fire and half willing Tim to turn around and say he was, in fact, kidding. Then for his hair to light on fire.

Okay, okay, okay. Jason just didn’t like whatever the fuck Tim’s hair was doing at the moment. It was a bird's nest for one (pun absolutely intended) and, for two, it either needed to be cut a lot shorter or grow out a lot longer because this middle-ground bullshit was just the fucking worst. The damn thing was practically a mullet and most certainly a fashion disaster if he ever saw one.

Weren’t gay boys supposed to have nice hair?

Was that a stereotype? That was probably a stereotype. A stereotype that he deeply wished were true because, goddamn, that was some distracting shit.

“If I was joking I would have said: Hey Jason! Wanna hear a joke?” 

Said the sassiest bitch ever. 

Tim turned to look at him, evidently catching the way he was staring at his hair with such disdain that it physically made the kid flinch.

That… or he thought Jason was simply looking at ALL of him with enough hate to fuel the sun (and not exclusively at the crime-against-fashion on his head). Which, okay, he got but… Ouch. He was TRYING to be a better person (had been trying for over a year now), and the least Timmy could do was NOT look so damn shook every time he got a little annoyed with him.

“You need a haircut.” READ: I am not planning your funeral.

“What?” Tim squinted in confusion at the non-sequitur and Jason made a show of rolling his eyes.

“I said: you gotta be joking me, because what are the fucking chances that the majority of the JLA and associates are off fighting a war in deep space while the REST are busy being over run by every other criminal who noticed?” Because… really? What WERE the fucking chances anyway? A trillion to one? 

Jeez. Of all the times for Dick to go missing, he just HAD to go missing when the people who could help the most were completely MIA. B being gone was bad enough but Supes and WW AND everyone else? That was the start of the fucking apcolypse. 

“That’s not what you said.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t actually SAY any of that.”

“Semantics.”

If looks could kill. 

“Anyway...” Tim deadpanned at him, slowly swiveling his chair back to the computer. “I’m not sure who we can call in on this.”

“Literally ANY hero would be more than happy to drop whatever they’re doing just to save Nightwing's fabulous ass." In some cases, literally. "You know, as long as they’re nearby and not in deep space.” 

“Okay, but THAT’S the problem.” The scowl in Tim’s voice was LOUD. “They’d be more than happy to help NIGHTWING, but wouldn’t they find it a bit suspicious that the Bat clan are pulling all their resources just to find DICK?”

“Depends on how thirst--”

“JASON!”

“OKAY! I get it. We can’t call anyone who doesn’t already know Dickface’s identity.”

“Which leaves us with...?” Tim turned his chair once more to face Jason, the look on his face suddenly quite grave. That did not bode well for anyone.

“Which leaves us with…” Jay ran through the list of people who could (and would) help AND knew who Dick was to the rest of the Bats, and that list was… very small. Of those, an even smaller portion were even still on Earth. 

“Steph?” He ventured weakly.

Tim made a face, “With Cas and Batwoman working a case in Siberia. And before you ask, yes, I already tried to contact them anyway but neither O nor I can seem to reach them.”

Fuck. “Selena?” He was reaching.

But apparently Tim had been reaching too, “MIA. No one has seen her in months. My guess is she’s either underground or undercover.”

“Is there really no one else we can call in?” He was starting to feel the panic from before rise up again like acid in the back of his throat.

“There is one person who knows Dick that I haven’t tried to contact yet…” The kid looked so reluctant to say it that it set Jason on edge. He could SMELL the fear creeping into the room which was impressive given that Tim was a Beta.

Who the fuck could trigger THAT kind of response AND be in the very small collection of individuals that knew Dick Grayson’s identity. The conclusion Tim was leading him towards struck like lightning in a bottle- he blanched at that. “FUCK NO!”

Replacement non-verbally communicated how unimpressed he was with Jason’s stanch refusal by imitating a disappointed Omega scolding a misbehaving pup. The mental image of which made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“NO!” He insisted louder this time, rising to his feet and puffing up. “No way! No how!”

“You didn't even-”

“I SAID NO.” And he fucking meant it because the absolute LAST thing they needed was to get HIM involved in a case around a missing Dick Grayson.

Which is why, three hours and some change later, when the two of them were standing on top of a tall building facing down the imposing figure of Deathstroke the Terminator, Jason found himself at a loss for words. Honestly, he distinctly remembered saying ‘NO’ loudly and clearly. Like… crystal clearly. Like Alfred would be proud, clearly. So why the fuck...

“And?” Slade-mother-fucking-Wilson crossed his arms and had the gal to look and smell BORED. Like he didn't just get a nuclear bomb of information dropped at his feet moments ago.

“AND...?!” Jay was seeing remnants of green haunting the edge of his vision, the smell of anger peppering the air around them.

“Red Hood!” Red Robin managed to snap with a “Get It Together”™ look on his face before turning back to the absolutely HUGE Alpha standing across the roof from them. The guy smelled like gunpowder and leather and it was oppressive with how powerful it was.

“-And we need help tracking him down.” The kid was doing his damnedest to stay polite, something Jason had given up on loooooong before they even got to this meeting. “It’s been two days…”

Two long and antagonizing days of radio silence which became particularly painful after the warehouse… incident.

Deathstroke responded by way of shifting his weight and tossing out a casual: “And you two don’t think Pretty Bird can get out all on his own?”

Jason didn’t even realize he had started growling until Timbo elbowed him none-too-gently in the ribs. It cut the growl off but did nothing for how annoyed he was at Slade for using HIS nickname for Dick so freely. He had no fucking right! Like he had no fucking right to ANYTHING involving Dick. 

Especially when Jason has seen, first hand, the kind of looks Slade threw Goldie on the regular. He wasn’t even a LITTLE ashamed of how blatant he was making his interest in the Beta known, and that just pissed Jason right the fuck off. Because….! Reasons! 

“Hood, I can scent you from here and if you keep glaring like that, it’ll stick.” The subject of his ire smirked at him. FUCKING SMIRKED AT HIM.

Which did NOTHING to soothe the mounting furry from practically blinding him because the bastard KNEW. Not that Jason was exactly keeping his wants and desires a deep dark secret but he sure as hell wasn’t going around broadcasting it either. Unlike SOME Alphas. 

Everyone who was anyone in the underground and Cape community KNEW about Deathstroke and his… “pointed interest” in one particular Batling. And because he was SLADE FUCKING WILSON, no one said a goddamn word about it regardless of how inappropriate the whole situation was. Well, Fuck Slade. And while he was at it, fuck Bruce too because there was no way the man DIDN’T know about Deathstroke’s ultiror motives for luring the pretty bird to him.

“Look,” Tim was calmly interjecting himself between the two Alphas who had gone silent with their posturing. “Just… if you hear anything…”

“I’ll consider sending a note.” Wilson didn’t even blink. Jason may have fucking hated this guy beyond what most considered reasonable, but he was still bitting the inside of his check so hard it was bleeding JUST to keep himself from saying another damn word. Because, pissed as he was, he begrudgingly KNEW that they needed Slade’s eyes and ears on this mission too. Especially if there was going to be any hope of solving this matter quickly before anything… unfixable… befell Dick.

As unhealthily infatuated as Slade was (yes, yes, pot kettle whatever!), he wasn’t going to kidnap Dick (debatable) and experiment on him like a lab rat (truth). The man actually respected the first Robin in ways that no one but Dick understood and, as Tim put it, was waiting for the day Grayson came flying back to him of his own free will (over Jason’s dead body). The only positive aspect to this creepy and predatory… THING… Slade had with Dick was that he wouldn’t look too kindly on anyone else attempting to stake a claim.

Stake a claim or, you know, cut the former Robin up and turn him into a high school biology project.

Fuck. He was feeling nauseated and jittery all over again.

Deathstroke had apparently deemed the conversation over because he was already leaping to the next building by the time Jason tuned back in, taking that suffocating scent with him.

“Fuck that guy,” he snarled under his breath at the same time Tim said: “He’s going to help us.”

The two stopped and looked at each other, attempting to read facial expressions through the domino masks which… well… wasn’t fucking working. Much like most of their current plans and operations it would seem.

Jay broke first. “How do you figure?” 

“You couldn’t read the," Red Robin covered one eye with his right hand, “I-will-slaughter-anyone-who-so-much-as-touches-a-hair-on-his-lovely-head vibe?” 

He would have laughed if the whole situation wasn't so ...what the fuck.

“What the fuck?” How did TIM the scentblind Beta know any of that?

Tim’s face pinched a little, like the gears in his head were struggling to slow down long enough to actually explain something to someone else, his hand dropping at the same time. Jason could have sworn he smelled smoke.

“I’ve read his file at least three times.” Of course he had. ”For all of Slade’s many, MANY, faults…” Tim paused to heave a deeply felt sigh, “he cares. In his own… twisted way, and he KNOWS the kind of things that have been happening in and around Gotham so… he’ll help.”

“Great.” Of course he already knew what was going on, what didn’t that asshole know? 

Tim fidgeted with his hands, clearly fighting himself from bringing his gloved fingers to his lips which meant the kid was nervous. Jay couldn’t muster the empathy. The kid would just have to get in line and join the club. No one who knew anything about their current predicament was comfortable with what was happening.

In the near distance, Sirens could be heard wailing their battle cry and Jason resigned himself to getting back to picking up Goldie's patrol. The world didn’t stop just because Dick Grayson had vanished, much to his dismay.

At least he was going to be able to take out all his pent up aggression on some dipshits who thought mugging innocent people was a good idea.

After all, today was the wrong day to cross Red Hood and commit a crime in Gotham. He'd make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' thank you to Dabiishi (here on AO3) for being my forever awesome Bea-ta reader :3! Seriously, they've been working with me for the last 10 years (at least) and I'm blessed to have their support.
> 
> Next! We finally get to see some Dick POV in next chapter! Can't say that's a gooooood thing but, hey, at least we get a little light on what's happening.
> 
> So... Pretty much every chapter I drop a few Easter eggs here and there and, very soon, you're going to start to see all those clues pull together. We're still a long way from the finish line but we're getting there. 
> 
> In fact, I'd say we're probably about halfway through the first Arc if I stick to my 20+ pages of notes @___@! 
> 
> There is a looooooooot of world  
> building and personal individual history to unpack that I'm not sure I'll be able to get to it all in the context of this story. Like, Tim's childhood spent with monks or the nuance of Omega laws throughout history. Or even how Damian is an Alpha Prime and what THAT means.
> 
> Bla bla bla... Not sure what to do so I'mma gonna just keep writing until I finish Jay and Dick's current story line then.... I'll cross that bridge when I get there.
> 
> Thoughts? I live on your comments and input.


End file.
